Alternate Resolutions
by Soledad
Summary: A very AU version of the 2nd Season episode. Part of the Alternate Voyager series. Please mind the warnings. Rating notched up starting with Ch 05.
1. Prologue: In Medias Res

**THE LOST VOYAGES**

**The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been**

**by** **Soledad**

**ALTERNATE RESOLUTIONS**

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

**Rating:** varies from chapter to chapter, between G and R. Right now, it's suitable for all. I'll raise the rating as the story progresses.

**Series:** Alternate Voyager. This will most likely be Episode # 17 or 18.

**Archiving:** Sure, just ask first. I prefer to know where my stuff goes.

**Warnings:** This is an AU, and a rather radical one. Quite a few events are changed, and the character dynamic is vastly different from that in the show. Also, this is not a series for Janeway fans of for shippers of canon pairings. Please consider this before you start reading. Thank you.

**Main events that – supposedly – happened in the alternate storyline so far:**

– Not only _Voyager_ and the _Crazy Horse_ had been abducted in the Delta Quadrant during the pilot, but also the stolen runabout _Shenandoah_, with two very important Maquis operatives on board. No, I won't tell who they are just yet. You'll find out soon enough.

– They took – beside Neelix and Kes – a small group of other Ocampa with them; the doctor from the central clinic, his daughter, a nurse, and a couple of the young farmers, who work with Gerron and Kes in the hydroponics bay.

– Neelix and Kes had never been a couple in this universe; Neelix did have the interest, but Kes didn't; she chose Gerron to be the father of her child when going through elogium.

– Naomi Wildman was not born on _Voyager_; a fact I introduced because her canonical age and her appearance/behaviour just didn't match. In this AU, she was four years old already when _Voyager_ set off to hunt down the Maquis, visited with her K'tarian father on DS9 and remained on board by accident, while hiding in her mother's labs. However, Samantha Wildman was pregnant and gave birth to a second child in the episode "Deadlock". This child is a boy and is named after Kes' uncle, Elrem.

– The most important change for this episode is, however, that in the previous one, Symbiogenesis (the Alternate Tuvix episode), the senior crew had revolted against Janeway's intention to forcibly separate Tuvix. They had actually managed to make her back off, so Tuvok and Neelix will remain a merged entity for a while.

* * *

**PROLOGUE: IN MEDIAS RES**

Chakotay of Dorvan V. formerly First Officer on the U.S.S. _Voyager_, ex-freedom-fighter, Maquis cell leader and captain of the Maquis raider _Crazy Horse_, before that instructor of advanced tactical training on Starfleet Academy, sat outside the Starfleet emergency shelter that would be his home for the rest of his life. He just sat there quietly and watched from afar the gentle-faced blonde woman who would share this life in exile with him. The woman feeding her baby, while her other, four-year-old kid was playing in the grass on her side.

Under different circumstances, this would be a dream come true. A whole planet, with all of its resources, accessible for them alone. True companionship, peace, rural beauty, children to raise… everything he had ever dreamed of during the long years of his struggle, during the brutal and ultimately doomed war against the Cardassians. If either of them were here voluntarily.

The planet was truly beautiful. With its lush forests, mild climates and untouched wildlife that excluded any large predators, it could have been the perfect paradise. Which, in a sense, it was. Complete with the snake. Only that in this case the snake was a small insect. An insect with a bite that ensured that whoever entered this paradise would never be able to leave it again. Not alive, that is.

What a bitter irony.

Beyond him, in the shelter, a comm badge chirped. The woman continued feeding her baby, as if she hadn't heard it, her face now cold and angry. She wasn't ready to talk to anyone just yet. Chakotay couldn't blame her. The circumstances of her parting from their commanding officer were less than amiable.

The comm badge chirped again. Chakotay suppressed a sigh and rose to answer the call. There was no reason to pout. This was not Janeway's fault… or anyone else's. This was a cruel joke of the universe itself – or, as Tom Paris would put it, an exceptionally tough case of bad luck – and nobody could do anything against it.

"Chakotay," he said in a clipped manner.

"This is the Doctor speaking," the voice of the EMH replied. Good. He could deal with the holodoc. Better than with any flesh-and-blood person, at least at the moment.

"I assume you have news," Chakotay said.

"Yes," the voice of the EMH answered. "Our sensors show your vital signs are normal. How are you feeling?"

"Physically, we are fine," Chakotay said. "Just as you have assumed when you took us out of stasis. As for the rest… we are doing as well as we can, considering the circumstances."

"Commander, I want to emphasize how sorry I am that I have been unsuccessful to find a cure," was that regret in the hologram's voice? Chakotay sighed.

"It's not your fault, Doctor. You've been working 24/7 for weeks. I'm sure if there were a cure you'd have found it by now."

"That is the current stand of things, yes," the EMH replied, "But I won't stop trying to develop a counteragent to the virus. I might still find other options to explore, and Lieutenant Ro promised that she or Lieutenant Riker will take the _Shenandoah_ and get back to you as soon as I succeed."

"_If_ you succeed," Chakotay corrected mildly. "You still think that keeping us in stasis aboard _Voyager_ won't be a solution?"

"I'm afraid not," the EMH's voice said. "Something in the planet's environment is shielding you from the effects of the virus. If you leave, you risk a recurrence of the disease which would undoubtedly prove fatal."

"I see," Chakotay said after a brief pause. "When is _Voyager_ leaving orbit?"

"According to Mr. Rollins, within twenty-four hours. After all your equipment has been offloaded and the crew had the chance to say their goodbyes."

"Understood. Thank you, doctor."

"You are welcome, Commander. I wish I could do more for you. Sickbay out."

Chakotay deactivated his comm badge and, after a moment of hesitation, pinned it onto his vest. His people might decide to call, as long as _Voyager_ was in orbit. He wouldn't deny them that little comfort. They would need it.

Without their leader as second-in-command, they will be having tough times under Janeway's unquestioned rule. She had already selected Rollins as her new XO – the most narrow-minded, bullish officer Starfleet had produced in the last two decades. Would she still have Tuvok, she might have chosen the utterly reliable Vulcan, but with Tuvix, she couldn't be so sure. The merged being had Tuvok's logic and loyalty, but he also had Neelix' exuberant personality. He was an unknown factor, and Janeway wouldn't take any risks when re-establishing total control.

Hell, she didn't even allow Tuvix to perform his duties as chief of security, temporarily disabling _all_ of Tuvok's security codes, until he declared himself to be ready for being separated again! At the moment Gregor Ayala was still acting as temporary chief of security, but Chakotay doubted seriously that the arrangement would last.

His comm badge chirped again. This time, it was Ro Laren.

"Chakotay, I must be quick," she said. "It's only a matter of minutes until the Fleeters discover this secure channel… in which case it won't be secure anymore. In any case, we – the Maquis and a few Fleet people who sympathise – will try to contact the Vidiians. They have the most sophisticated technology we've seen so far in the Delta Quadrant. It's possible that they might be able to help."

"No," Chakotay said promptly. "It's too risky. The Vidiians are not known of their willingness to help other people. If they knew where _Voyager_ is, they'd attack the ship to harvest body parts from the crew."

"We mustn't flat out reject any possible alternatives," Ro insisted.

"Laren," Chakotay said gently; their long friendship entitled him to use her given name. "Do you think that either Samantha or I could live with ourselves knowing we sent _Voyager_ into that kind of danger?"

"We are willing to take that risk!" Ro retorted stubbornly.

"But _we_ are not," Chakotay said with calm authority. "Now, give me Ayala, I know he must be there with you."

"Go on, Cap," Greg replied immediately.

"Greg, I assume you're aware of Laren's suggestion," Chakotay said carefully.

"Sure thing," his old friend replied calmly.

"Good. In that case, I want you to know… I want _all_ Maquis to know – that such an action would be unacceptable for both Sam and me. Do you understand it?"

"Sure I do," Ayala replied laconically. "It sucks, though."

"Yeah, it does," Chakotay agreed, "but that's how things are. And one more thing, Greg: I leave _you_ in charge of the Maquis. You've always been my right-hand man; I want you to take care of them."

"Me?" Greg asked in surprise. "Not Ro or Riker? They used to be Fleet; they might have a better connection to the other Fleeters."

"No," Chakotay answered grimly. "Ro is too much of a loose cannon, and Riker… I don't trust his motivation."

"Concerning our case or concerning Torres?" Greg asked, with a hint of his rarely surfacing dry humour in his voice.

"Either of them," Chakotay said.

"Don't worry, Cap," Greg assured him. "I'll keep an eye on him… on both of them. Just in case."

"Good," Chakotay sighed. "I'm depending on you in this, Greg. Our people will need you, now that I won't be there more than they ever did."

"You can count on me, Chakotay. You know that."

"I do. And that's what makes this whole parting thing a little more bearable," Chakotay paused, seeking for the right words. "Take care, Greg. And should you find a way home, give Gina and the boys a hug from me. Chakotay out."

He cut the connection, unable to wait for Greg's answer. It was just too damned painful to say good-bye to the people who'd been his ersatz family for years.

* * *

Nursing her baby son but a few metres away, former Ensign Samantha Wildman kept pretending that she hadn't heard Chakotay's voice break with sorrow. Right now, she was fairly preoccupied with her own concern. She was contemplating the future from her own specific point of view. After all, the changes she was facing were drastic enough. They would have been drastic even without the added complication of a potentially deadly illness. The end of a happy marriage, of no fault of her own, was devastating enough as it was.

Her Gresk had been like a tawny lion in its prime: sleek and deceivingly strong and so very beautiful, with his thick, wavy straw-blond mane and golden, feline eyes, emphasized by the typical, lion-like K'tarian features of his high forehead. She had loved him very much. She still missed him badly at times: his soft touches, his low, throaty purr, the unexpected strength of those long, sleek muscles under his warm, smooth skin, the way his broad grin showed off his sharp canines, revealing the once violent origins of his people. The thought that she'd never see him again was killing her.

K'tarians were a very old and sophisticated race, and Gresk belonged to one of the most ancient Prides that kept the old traditions in many areas. When he had declared his intention to marry a human, his mothers and his father were every bit as outraged as Sam's simple, Earth-bound family had been when she'd told them that she intended to marry an alien. The fact that his birth-mother had been long dead and that the _kater_ of the family was not the one who'd begotten him was irrelevant. They were his _elders_.

Like in the case of Terran lions, K'tarian families consisted of several females with their children, and one male – this practice had its origin in the fact that females outnumbered males in the K'tarian population four to one. But despite the relative rarity and thus the valued status of virile males, the leader of a family group was always the ranking female. To achieve that rank, the females often fought ritual duels – sometimes to the death – especially those from the ancient Prides.

Gresk had not wanted to subject Sam to the sometimes violent traditions of his people. As a Starfleet officer – and an anthropologist at that – he preferred to watch said traditions from a comfortable distance. They had taken up residence on Rigel VI, living in a twosome marriage in Terran fashion, except when they were assigned to different missions. They had been very happy together, even more so after Naomi's birth, and didn't care much about the disapproval of their respective families.

Nonetheless, Gresk had kept his K'tarian citizenship, which meant that specific K'tarian laws were still valid and bonding for him. And that meant that Sam and he weren't married any longer. K'tarian law stated that if there was no contact between married partners for more than a local year, the marriage got automatically annulled. And what was even worse, the law didn't allow such partners to get remarried to each other.

But for Sam, that was a moot point anyway. She'd spend her life on New Earth, without a chance to return home. Unlike Chakotay, she didn't hope that a cure might be found yet – not that she really minded. New Earth was a paradise, despite its metaphoric snake. She was used to living under such circumstances, being the spawn of a naturalist family and having lived with the natives on various planets for years. She had her children with her… and she had Chakotay.

They'd never been interested in each other sexually before. But now they were restricted to spend the rest of their lives with each other on this planet, and Sam was not willing to spend hers in celibacy. Not when there was a strong, handsome, intelligent man with whom she could share it. And Chakotay _was_ a handsome man. She'd always noticed that, in a detached, impersonal way. But now this fact had suddenly gained a more personal – and more practical – meaning.

If Gresk had been a golden lion, Chakotay was like a bear: all bronze and mahogany and eyes like dark chocolate and dimpled smiles. He moved with surprising grace for a man so heavily built, and he had a deep, warm chuckle that could melt ice. But unlike many people, Sam didn't let herself to be fooled by his gentle, easy-going, soft-spoken persona. She'd heard stories about the "angry warrior" of the Maquis, and she could sometimes catch a glimpse of that warrior lurking under the calm surface. While she'd liked to think of Gresk as deceivingly strong, there was nothing deceiving in _Chakotay's_ strength. The man literally radiated it – and considering the circumstances under which the two of them would have to live, that was a very good thing.

T'Prena had offered them anti-conception implants, "in case they wanted to turn to each other for comfort", as she had put it with her wonderful Vulcan bluntness. They had both refused, agreeing that – should that ever happen – they wouldn't want to live a barren life in their exile. T'Prena had found that logical; Janeway, on the other hand, had been shocked by the idea of setting children into the world on a planet they wouldn't be able to leave ever again.

"Mankind has spent thousands of years on the same planet, Captain," Sam had replied with a shrug. "I'm sure that we'll manage, too. Commander Chakotay has grown up under such circumstances. We'll live."

The captain had tried to fight her choice; tried to persuade Sam to leave at least her children behind, aboard _Voyager_, so that at least _they_ could return to Earth, eventually. But Sam remained adamant. She and the children belonged together; they were _family_, despite the fact that her marriage with Gresk was irreparably over. If that meant for Naomi and baby Elrem to spend their lives on new Earth, that was unfortunate, but she wasn't going to abandon them.

Besides, they'd never have been accepted by Gresk's Pride. They were half-breeds, a dilution of an ancient, much-respected bloodline and the mere idea of them had been rejected from the beginning. K'tarians were strange in their ways. At least Gresk would be able to return to his people, now that he was no longer burdened with an off-worldler partner. They'd take him back in a moment; he was a virile male of an excellent bloodline, he'd have his new, K'tarian family in no time. Sam wished him luck. She'd lost him anyway; at least he ought to have a good life without her.

Still, the confrontation with the captain, who didn't seem to understand the reasons for her choice, had not been pleasant. Janeway had accused her of selfishness, of destroying the children's' future, and Sam guessed that in a manner, she might even be right. Perhaps the children _would_ resent her for her choice one day.

But that was still in the future, and right now, New Earth was their life. Her strongest motivation to get back to the Alpha Quadrant was already gone. She'd _never_ be reunited with Gresk, no matter what. The best choice was to cut her losses and look forward. Here. At least, she could raise her children in peace… and, perhaps, build a future with the man who was stranded with her on this deceivingly idyllic planet.

Somewhen in the future, she might regret her decision. But right now, it felt like the best possible choice of several less than ideal choices. Right now, she was as content as anyone living in exile with no fault of their own could be.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 01: Serpent in Paradise

**The Lost Voyages**

**The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been**

**by** **Soledad**

**ALTERNATE RESOLUTIONS**

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

**Author's note:** The messy nature of Ensign Brooks was mentioned in "A Year of Hell".

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER 02 – Serpent in Paradise

**Three weeks earlier**

Preliminary sensor scans had shown the planet – the third one in a system of seven, surrounding a yellow dwarf star – as a Class M… and a particularly pleasant one at that. It had the usual silicate/iron surface, an oxidizing atmosphere, and it was still geologically active. A young world, with a lush vegetation, but curiously void o sentient life, or so it seemed. The single continent – its surface twice larger than all Earth's landmasses counted together – girdled the equatorial area, but had a very nice, mediterranean climate, due to the planet's distance to its sun and it nearly vertical axis. One could count on balanced temperatures, practically everywhere.

Chakotay beamed down with an away team consisting of Tuvix, Gerron, the Ocampa Kes and Daggin, Ensign Wildman and a six-man security unit… all Starfleet. That seemed to have become a pattern lately: whenever they got to a planet with any inhabitants above Neanderthal level, the captain went with the away team herself. Whenever they found an uninhibited planet, Chakotay was allowed to go down and supervise the gathering of foodstuff and other useful resources… under the watchful eyes of a singularly Starfleet security team.

He sometimes wondered when had their working relationship taken such a harsh turn to the wrong. After a bumpy start, they had worked together well enough for a while; it seemed even that Maquis and Starfleet personnel might indeed merge and become _one_ crew. And it had, to a certain extent. The lower decks had bonded well enough, under the extraordinary circumstances. There were even a few mixed couples, like Sito and Harry Kim. The Ocampa who had joined them two years ago had served as excellent mediators.

The problem were the senior officers – well, _certain_ senior officers, Chakotay corrected himself, walking alongside of Sam Wildman who was checking out some strange violet berries that hung in clusters from the low bushes surrounding the beaming down place. Joe Carey certainly behaved most civilly towards B'Elanna, despite the fact that their working relationship had started with B'Elanna breaking his nose in the heat of an argument. Joe was a decent guy; he got along well enough with _all_ the Maquis serving in Engineering – including Dalby and Chell, which wasn't a small feat.

As fiercely loyal as Chakotay was to his own people, even he had to admit that Ken Dalby could irritate the living highlight out of a person with his hostile attitude. Not that the hadn't had every possible reason to be bitter, but knowing those reasons didn't make it easier to endure his foul moods. As for Chell – the Bolian was a friendly guy but could talk underwater, with his mouth full of marbles, as Tom Paris had once said. Not even Tuvok could break him out of the habit, although the Vulcan had certainly tried his best. Fortunately, ensign Golwat, the only female Bolian on board, didn't seem to mind it. Besides, Chell had calmed down considerably since they'd gotten together. That was another one of the mixed Fleet/Maquis couples that seemed to actually have a future.

The Betazoids had formed their close little circle, too. Well, Stadi and Jurot were cousins to begin with, so it was no surprise that they stuck together very tightly. But the fact that they had accepted Lon Suder – as far as Suder allowed to be taken in at all – had been quite the surprise for Chakotay. For Suder apparently, too, if his first reaction had been any indication. Being in a stable mental bond also proved to be helpful for him to keep his violent nature under better control; he was positively less creepy now than he had been all the years since Chakotay had known him. It was strange how two such seemingly fragile women like Stadi and Jurot had the mental powers to keep someone like Suder in line, but they apparently could do it, and Chakotay was immensely relieved. Without the constant fighting to channel his destructive urges, Suder could have become a serious threat from within.

No, the real problem was Janeway, who never quite managed to turn her pretty words about trust and cooperation into reality. Chakotay knew that she'd only chosen him as her First Officer to secure the cooperation of the Maquis, without whom she wouldn't be able to run her ship to begin with. She'd have preferred Rollins, a rigid, by-the-book, unimaginative Starfleet officer as her XO… or even Tom Riker, whom she'd known from the Academy… or at least his counterpart…whatever. After all, the two Rikers had only existed for the last ten years or so, after a freak transporter accident had created a second version of the original. And even though Riker #2 had joined the Maquis for what Chakotay suspected were personal reasons, he was still Fleet through and through in his heart – and Janeway trusted him instinctively, more than she'd ever trust Chakotay.

But the other Maquis, the former crew of the _Crazy Horse_, would never follow Riker any more than they'd follow Rollins. Hell, they wouldn't even follow Ro, despite the fact that she'd deserted from the Fleet for the _case_, and had fought like a demon on their side ever since. They _respected_ her, sure – but the only one they _trusted_, the only one they'd follow through hellfire if they had to, was Chakotay. They followed orders aboard _Voyager_ because "the Chief" had told them to do so – and would stop obeying if he told them so. Janeway knew that, and it didn't make her happy.

The whole situation didn't make _Chakotay_ happy, either. He cared for the crew deeply... not for the Maquis only, he'd come to like and value the majority of the Fleeters as well – and wanted to do his best to ensure their safety and well-being. Yet Janeway kept ignoring his suggestions. The most recent, ugly confrontation about the possibility of forcibly separate Tuvix again had only been the peak of the iceberg. Chakotay had to walk on razor's edge to keep his position, as this was the only way to protect his own people. He had to pick his fights very carefully, as Janeway had grown more and more obsessed with the singular goal to get the crew home, by any means necessary.

Even if it meant to sacrifice the present for the future.

But people weren't meant to live like that. They needed to have a _life_, even under the given circumstances, which, admittedly, weren't ideal. They were _people_, not machines; people with an average lifespan. Only the three Vulcans could hope to catch up with everything that they would miss during the long way home. Vorik and T'Prena would still be in their best years, and even Tuvok would be a powerful elder – they could afford to wait. But the others, the humans, the Bajora, the Betazoids, the Bolians… they would grow old and die before they could have lived. And that was not right.

Sure, Chakotay wanted to get home just like everyone else – with the possible exception of Tom Paris who had nothing and nobody to return to. But he didn't want people to have to sacrifice everything that made life worth to live for that sole purpose. Shortening the journey by a month or two, or even by a year, was, in his opinion, not worth driving the crew beyond their limits without proper shore leave on some friendly planet where they could feel real sunlight on their faces and breathe fresh, unrecycled air. Or to endanger them all by pushing their way through hostile territory, just to go forward faster.

Unfortunately, this was something Janeway didn't seem to understand. But again, obsessed people rarely listened to reason.

And so they pushed forward at the best speed the battered engines could produce, taking unnecessary risks, getting into deadly confrontations that perhaps could have been avoided with a little more patience and circumvention. Not all of them, of course; there were always people out there who _wanted_ confrontation, who had malevolent intention, who _needed_ to be put to their places. Chakotay knew that and understood the necessity of using force when nothing else worked. He'd done so himself in the past often enough. But he also believed that half the time a little delay wouldn't have been such a high prize for more safety. They'd get home later… but perhaps with more of the crew still alive.

He glanced at Wildman on his left who shouldn't have been here in the first place. She should have been back aboard _Voyager_ with her kids, the second only born a few weeks ago, instead of collecting food samples on some nameless planet. Certainly, her knowledge as an exobiologist was _not_ sorely needed to operate the damned test kit. Every idiot could do _that_.

"What have you done to earn this assignment, Ensign?" he asked. "Or are you here to make sure Tuvix isn't trying to poison us?" After the nearly-forced separation issue, Tuvix' relationship with the captain was tense at best. The Vulcan part of him might have understood the logic of such a decision, but the part that had once been Neelix was well capable of keeping grudges.

Not that Chakotay really thought Tuvix would cause anyone serious harm… he was still Tuvok, at least partially, and that ruled out any such possibility. But he also had enough from Neelix in him so that a prank was not entirely out of the question. Knowing that the captain, who'd been one of his oldest friends, no longer trusted him, might lead him to unexpected reactions.

Wildman, however, shook her head in clear annoyance.

"I did nothing," she replied. "But the captain thought I'd benefit from a change of scenery," she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm, which was unusual. As a rule, she was a fairly balanced, rather good-natured woman. "To get over my post-natal depressions, she said."

"Are you suffering from post-natal depressions?" Chakotay asked in concern.

In a way, it would have been understandable. The baby was not hers, after all… well, not entirely. Just like Harry Kim, it was brought over from the parallel _Voyager_, the one created by a strange duplicating effect within a plasma nebula in Vidiian territory. The fact that Wildman's baby had died before her eyes and she was now stuck with the surviving child of her parallel self, _could_ have led to depressions.

This was a situation similar to that of Riker's, and Chakotay knew that Harry Kim, too, was still struggling with the fact that he was actually his own parallel self. Those things were not easy to accept – especially under such circumstances, when people weren't given enough time to cope with the situation. Which was exactly what Chakotay had told the captain repeatedly… but to no end.

As if guessing what was going on in his mind, Wildman shook her head again.

"Actually, I'm suffering from post-_marital_ depressions, if we need to give a fancy name to simple unhappiness," she replied dryly. "My marriage contract has run out shortly after Elrem was born. It's… not easy for me to come to terms with. We had a good marriage."

"Why didn't you sign a longer contract, then?" Chakotay asked with a frown. "In your line of work longer periods of separation are inevitable. A contract for ten or fifteen years would have served you better."

"I know," she answered with a dull ache in her voice. "But we had no other choice. My husband is K'tarian; they're not allowed to sign a long-term contract with off-worldlers, especially the males, unless they wish to give up their citizenship, severe all ties to their people and go into exile. I couldn't do that to Gresk."

"Gresk?" Chakotay grinned involuntarily, because it sounded like a kitten sneezing. "Your husband's name is Gresk?"

She grinned back at him, although without any true amusement. "That's the shortened version of his given name, and that's what I call him. Gresk re'Ndek ar'Hatharr tre-K'tarr would be a bit too much to spell every single time. K'tarian names – that is, the full names that they only use when signing official documents – always include the given name combined with that of the family, the name of the Pride the individual belongs to and the planet he or she is from."

"The planet?" Chakotay repeated, a little baffled.

"The K'tarian system has three habitable planets," Wildman explained. "They have spread out within their solar system some eight hundred years ago and populated all three of them. They are a very old race, older than Vulcans, even."

"It must have been a long and slow evolutional process for a felinoid species to become almost completely human-looking," Chakotay said. "Compared to them, the Caitians and the Kzinti are almost like intelligent primates would be compared to us."

Wildman nodded in agreement. "And just like with Vulcans, some of their ancient customs are downright alienating," she said. "Their biology is, in its own way, just as strange, and it determines what they are and how they live a lot stronger than our biology does to us."

"Really?" Chakotay said in surprise. "I've never heard about that. In fact, I don't know much about K'tarians at all, although I'm fairly well-informed when it comes to the various Federation member species."

"They're very private about their affairs," she replied. "I can tell you a few things if you're interested, Commander… things that are not too personal, that is… after we're done collecting samples here."

"I'd like to learn about them," Chakotay admitted. "I'm a trained anthropologist and palaeontologist, but hadn't had the chance to do anything related to my field for _years_. I really miss being a scientist again."

"Then we should speed up the food collecting part," she suggested. "The sooner we finish our task, the sooner can we return to _Voyager_."

Chakotay agreed with the suggestion, and they continued their survey. Soon enough, a low bush that looked eerily similar to potato caught his eyes. The tubers under the leaves had a deep indigo colour – what was it with this planet and violet, lilac or indigo plants anyway? – but looked very much like potatoes, too.

"Ensign, would you mind to bring the test kit over here?" he called out to Wildman. "I think I found something."

"Just a moment, Commander," Wildman replied, and then she came indeed.

In the meantime, Chakotay had excavated a small opening in the soft soil and cut a thin sliver from one of the exposed tubers. They placed that sliver into the small chamber within the testing unit and Chakotay keyed in the code to assess the viability of his find.

"The bush itself does look a lot like potato," he said as they waited for the scan to finish. "So I thought there might be something underneath worth digging up."

"Afraid not," Wildman said, reading the tester's display. "It seems to be toxic; not overly so but enough to make it unfit for consumption."

"Well, that's a real shame," Chakotay said. "My mouth was already watering at the thought of a baked potato; a _real_ one, not some replicated stuff."

"I know what you mean," Wildman smiled wistfully. "My Grandpa used to make the best baked potatoes… with lots of ground cheese and sour cream and…"

Chakotay laughed. "Stop it, Ensign. Torturing a superior officer is a major offence. Show me what you have found instead."

"These here," Wildman led him back to her earlier position and showed him the small, pea-pod like fruits (lilac in colour, of course) hanging in clusters from a bush. "They're not real peas, of course, and I don't know what they'll taste like when cooked, but at least they are edible… and quite nutritious."

"That's all what counts; nothing can be worse than leola root, and we've already eaten _that_ for what? Two years?" Chakotay called up the previous test results. "I see they check out just fine… they actually have some vague similarities to Brussels sprouts."

Wildman pulled a face. "Ewww… I _hate_ Brussels sprouts. But as you said: everything is better than leola root."

"Quite right," Chakotay agreed, retrieving his shoulder sack. "Should we gather up some of them?"

"We should," Wildman said, moving her own sack and placing it under the bush. "At least it means some variety on the menu; and who knows, Tuvix even might make them enjoyable, somehow."

They both laughed and continued stuffing their sacks with the pea-pod like fruits, hoping that the new chef would indeed be able to make a pleasant meal out of them. They were just about to return to the beam-up site when Chakotay decided to go back to the tuber roots, after all.

"I want to bring at least one bush with me," he said. "Who knows, perhaps we can use them yet. Some plants are only toxic when eaten raw. Perhaps the cooking process will make these tubes edible, too."

Wildman flashed him a knowing smile. "You really want that baked potato, don't you?" she asked.

"You have no idea," Chakotay replied, grinning. "Even if we can't use them right away, perhaps the Ocampa can breed an edible version out of the things, given enough time."

"All right, Commander," Wildman laughed at the longing in his voice. "I'll try to help you remove the plant, without damaging the roots. Then we can give it a thorough study in the exobiology lab. It's not so as if we had all that much to do there anyway, and I have the feeling that you're not the only one who misses potatoes… or something similar, at least."

"Hopefully more similar than Neelix' concoction used to be to coffee," Chakotay commented, squatting down and wiping away the loose soil with his bare hands. "I thought the captain would explode when he pointed out that she should show an example in consuming all the ersatz foodstuffs he'd come up with. There are a lot of things Kathryn Janeway would be willing to give up, but coffee is not one of those."

"I can't really blame her," Wildman replied, loosening the tuber roots carefully, so that she'd be able to pull out the whole plant, eventually. "There are small comforts from home that can mean the world for a person. _Especially_ comfort food of any kind."

"I know," Chakotay grinned. "That is why I'm trying to take this almost-potato with us. Only real mushroom soup would be better than having potatoes somewhen in the future."

"That wouldn't be bad," Wildman agreed, "but for me, it's apples. I miss them more than I could describe. Before… before _this_, there was no day without an apple for me. Even if it was replicated, which couldn't even come close to the real thing."

"Perhaps one day we're gonna find something close enough," Chakotay said, freeing one of the tubers completely.

"Close enough would never be enough," Wildman replied, sliding her hand in between the still half-covered tubers, trying to lift them carefully… then she yanked the hand back, staring at the small, bleeding wound between thumb and forefinger in dismay. "Dammit!"

"What did this?" Chakotay lost all possible interest in the not-quite-but-perhaps-one-day-potato at once.

"Some kind of burrowing insect," Wildman replied. "I only saw it for a moment; brown, about as long as my little finger… quite unremarkable, really, and hard to spot, it blended with the earth so well."

"Let me see that hand," Chakotay took it in his own hands, looking at the small wound in concern. "I'd better suck it out, just in case that thing released a toxin into the wound."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Commander," Wildman said, clearly worried. "There's no need to endanger yourself. I can return to _Voyager_ and have one of the doctors take a look at it."

"Nonsense," Chakotay replied. "We do this on Dorvan V all the time when one gets bitten by a snake. Nobody has ever come to any harm. I don't intend to swallow it, so there won't be any risk."

Reluctantly, Wildman agreed to let him clean the wound the old-fashioned way. It wasn't the first time she'd done something like that. On the primitive worlds she'd visited during her field training as an exobiologist, she often had to use methods that would have driven any Starfleet doctor to despair. Besides, Chakotay apparently knew what he was doing. The wound was cleaned and the bleeding stopped within a minute or so. They had acted immediately, she reminded herself. Everything would be all right.

And yet she could not shake off the nagging feeling that they had made a mistake. That something was very wrong, despite appearances. She just couldn't put her finger on _what_ it was.

Having dealt with her small injury, Chakotay gathered the away team and had them beamed back to _Voyager_. They had found an astounding variety of edible plants – aside from the almost-potato, which they decided to leave behind, after all, not wanting to risk another injury – and Tuvix promised a spectacular dinner. Considered that as a merged being he seemed to be a much better cook than Neelix had ever been – not the least due to the fact that he was a lot more restrained with the use of hot spices – that was not an empty promise.

Sam Wildman was glad to be back on board again. As good it was to feel real sunlight again, she didn't like to leave her children in the case of virtual strangers. Even though she'd lived in close quarters with said strangers for the last two years. And while Susan Brooks had been a good friend since well before the disastrous mission that had stranded them in the Delta Quadrant – not to mention the fact that she _loved_ to baby-sit and got along with Naomi splendidly – she was also a very messy person. Her quarters were in constant disarray, making Sam afraid that her daughter would slip on some carelessly dropped item and break her neck on one of those days.

She retrieved her children, nursed little Elrem and put both kids to bed. She felt like turning in early, too. Working outdoors could make one exhausted, despite the sunshine and the fresh air, when one hadn't had either of those for quite some time.

_

* * *

_

In her bloodstream, the organism began to roam, to feed. It did not precisely fit the characteristics of any germ, bacteria or virus; nonetheless, it was slowly making her sick and weak whiles he slept. It was nothing humans – or any Alpha Quadrant species, for that matter – had ever encountered on any world. It thrived in moist environments and lived off on proteins that were exclusively found in mammals, thus the insect that had delivered it had been a mere carrier, a host unaffected by the deadly threat that nestled in its body.

_The organism had no ecological purpose on the planet where Sam had encountered it. All it could do was to grow and to kill. Neither had it originated from that planet – as it had the ability to lay dormant for a very long time, it could travel from planet to planet: with the help of visiting starships or that of simple rubbish that had somehow been sucked or blown outside of a planet's atmosphere._

_It had already travelled across a large section of the Delta Quadrant, leaving death and emptiness behind – until it had been trapped on the planet the Voyager crew had christened New Earth. There it had gone dormant for a very long time. The sun of the planet, the yellow dwarf star, emanated a certain type of radiation that didn't quite become it. Oh, it got passed back and forth lower lifeforms, but with all of them having adapted to the radiation, it had not been able to multiplicate._

_Yes, it had been dormant, but not entirely unaware of its surroundings. As soon as it had sensed the approach of a harmless, nutrient-filled environment, one for which it had been waiting for many years, it had entered through the broken skin of Sam's hand. The carrier insect had helped it, true, but it would have found a way in any case. It went wherever it wanted to be; anywhere it could carry sickness and death._

_Once it had entered the nutritious environment that was Sam's body, it had grown strong enough to counteract the disadvantageous radiation of the yellow dwarf star, at least temporarily. Just before Chakotay had begun to suck the small wound clean, the organism had managed to duplicate itself, ready to send out the duplicate to new environs._

_In the very moment when Chakotay had pressed his lips on the wound, the duplicate had penetrated his body, too, using the mixture of human body fluids as a carrier. Both humans were now carrying a thriving version of the organism within them, getting it back to Voyager – to new, rich feeding grounds._

_They had no idea what was happening to them, of course. They both believed that they were merely exhausted from working down on the planet, after having spent such a long time in the closed, artificial environment of a starship. It was a plausible explanation, after all. Why should they have sought for other reasons?_

_In the new environment, protected from the radiation of the yellow dwarf, the organism grew strong within the bodies of its clueless hosts, expanding, duplicating, and ready to send out new copies of itself into other beings. All it needed was contact, an exchange of body fluids to transmit itself to many new – and healthy – bodies. Its current nutrient levels were satisfying for the moment. But it would require more, soon, or it would go hungry and die along with the hosts it inhibited._

_But even if it had been capable of concern, it wouldn't be worried. It might lack intelligence, but it possessed a keen sense for nutrients, and that sense told him that there were a great number of potential hosts nearby. All it had to do was to wait for the right opportunity._

* * *

Chakotay was annoyed with his own tiredness. It was not natural, he decided. As a Maquis, he had spent a great deal of time on various planets, all fairly rough, between raids. He was _used_ to live in the near-untouched wilderness. Half a day on some uninhibited world shouldn't have exhausted him this much. He hadn't even worked all too hard down there. This was ridiculous!

And that was not all there was. He had the diffuse feeling of being watched. But several security scans in his quarter, performed by Gregor Ayala personally, each more thorough and more detailed than the one before, had resulted in nothing.

"I'm sorry, Cap," Ayala shook his head, "but I can't find anything… or anybody here. No hidden surveillance devices, no peepholes in the bulkhead, no invisible spies hiding in the cupboard… nothing. What made you think someone would be spying on you anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Chakotay replied slowly. "it's just… just a nagging feeling that I'm not alone, that's all. I can't explain it, but it won't leave me alone."

"Hmmm…" Ayala grunted noncommittally. "Do you have this… feeling everywhere on the ship or just in your own quarters?"

Chakotay tried to remember, which wasn't easy, as tired as he felt.

"Now that you're asking," he finally said, "I felt it in the transporter room, too. _And_ in the captain's ready room, when I made my report to the captain."

"That's odd," Ayala, acknowledged master of the understatement, said. "Could possibly any of our resident telepaths be messing with your head?"

"I guess it _is_ possible," Chakotay answered after a while, not really believing it, though. "But I can't see why they would do so."

"For a number of reasons," Ayala replied grimly. "If I were you, I'd have my head checked out. Just in case."

"By whom?" Chakotay asked. "I don't really think T'Prena would be willing to perform a mind-meld with me, just to find out whether someone is tampering with my head or not. Nor would I want her to do so, to be perfectly honest."

"Of course not," Ayala agreed. "Not only is she a Vulcan, she's also Starfleet, and quite rigidly so. But Stadi is a decent one… and a very strong telepath, even as Betazoids go. Plus, as she's the ship's counselor, she'd be bound by doctor/patient confidentiality… or something like that."

"Perhaps," Chakotay allowed, "but I'd rather try to figure out things on my own."

Ayala rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Oh, great! Let me guess: you'll go on a vision quest."

Chakotay nodded in agreement. "Yep; I'll go on a vision quest."

Ayala shrugged. "It's your choice, man. Me, I'd rather take my chances with Stadi, but we can't all be rational, I guess. Go and talk to your spirits, then. Perhaps they _are_ smarter than we both thing."

They laughed, both knowing that Ayala couldn't – and wouldn't – follow Chakotay down the spiritual path, and that Chakotay wasn't the least bothered by his best friend's blatant disbelief. The acting security chief left shortly thereafter, wishing his XO and former captain good luck. He still had reports to fill out, which, he guessed, was punishment enough.

Finally left alone, Chakotay dimmed the lights in his cabin to near-darkness, to shut out as many distracting impulses as possible. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he spread out the contents of his medicine bundle before him: the feather of a blackbird he had befriended in his parent's garden; a polished stone from the river near their house, painted with an ancient symbol for blessing the land wherever it was laid upon the earth; and the small electronic device known as the _akoonah_, which had long replaced the use of peyote to kick off the vision quest. He placed his hand on the _akoonah_ and closed his eyes, focusing all his senses inward.

"_Akoo-chee-moya_," he murmured. "I remain far from the sacred places of my grandfathers, far from the bones of my people. We seem to have found a paradise, a place to rest in our long journey; and yet my spirit is troubled. Perhaps there is a powerful being that could lead me on the path of enlightenment. If it is permitted, lend me your guidance. Show me the truth of this place, so that I can protect those who look at _me_ for guidance. Let me find the answers I seek."

He activated the _akoonah_. Unlike the peyote that had needed some time to draw a veil over the sensory intake of his forefathers, the electrical impulses of the _akoonah_ provided the same effect instantly, by stimulating the usually slumbering parts of his brain… and that without polluting his blood with psychoactive toxins. The physical world faded away from his consciousness, leaving him enter the spirit plane. His heartbeat and his breathing slowed down to a minimum that was necessary to stay alive. In that extremely focused state, he opened his inner eyes to the realm of spirits and symbols.

The usual environment of his vision quest had always been a forest lightening. One similar to that on Dorvan V where the cottage of his grandfather stood – now an empty shell, since the death of the 'crazy old man' as he'd been called. That was where his spirit guide, the totem animal who acted as both his tutor and his twin sister in the world beyond, usually waited for him.

This time, however, he found himself in a different forest; one very much like that which he had recently visited, leading the away team. He could see the tall trees with the fruits that looked eerily like greenish-gold mangos, the bushes with the pea-pod like clusters, event he plant with the purple tuber roots; the one he'd thought would be something akin to potato. The one where Wildman had been bitten by that insect.

Yet he could _not_ see his animal guide anywhere. That in itself was strange… quite unsettling, actually. Never before had the wolf failed to greet him when he entered the spirit world. Something was wrong here, very wrong. The fact that he couldn't even _feel_ the presence of his guide, let alone talk to her, filled his very soul with dread. Never before had he felt so alone inside his own heart and mind… so abandoned… so helpless…

For a moment, he considered opening his eyes for real, deactivating the _akoonah_ and returning to the physical world, but after a brief hesitation he decided against it. He believed that the spirits had brought him for a reason; which meant he couldn't turn back until he'd learned all that was there to learn about the false paradise below. Because now he knew beyond doubt that it _was_ false; that something was indeed very wrong with the planet. The only remaining question was: _what_ was wrong?

His instincts told him to examine the plant with the tuber roots. Somehow he could feel that everything had begun there, in the very moment in which Wildman got bitten. That was the place where he had to begin his search.

He turned to the half-unearthed plant and was about to bend down and finish the excavation when it happened. The vision serpent – a powerful symbol that only appeared on a quest at the times of great, imminent danger – burst forth from under the earth like an exploding volcano. It rose to its full height, which was that of the tallest tree and beyond, and turning to Chakotay, it disgorged a great cloud of impenetrable darkness that threatened to swallow him.

Chakotay tried to flee but could not move. An awful weariness descended upon him, and it took all his energy to keep standing. He wondered what kind of meaning this ordeal might have, what kind of truth could be learned her at all. Then the darkness engulfed him, and he was lost in it, completely.

The safety circuit in the _akoonah_ beeped frantically, deactivating the small device at the first sign of neurogical distress. The automated alarm system connected to that special circuit waited for exactly sixty seconds for Chakotay to return to the here and now and disconnect it. After that, it sent an impulse to the omnipresent board computer, and a distress call was sent out to Sickbay, alerting the doctors about the medical emergency in the First Officer's quarters.

Chakotay knew nothing about those events. The contents of his medicine bundle scattered around his seemingly lifeless form, he lay slumped onto one side in the middle of the sleeping area of his quarters, his eyes glassy and wide open, frozen in an intense expression of terror.

He didn't react to the frantic efforts of Pharin, the Ocampa nurse, who happened to have the dog watch in Sickbay, to raise him. He didn't hear the small, fairy-like woman contact Sickbay again, asking for an emergency beam-out. For all that he was still, albeit way too flatly breathing, he seemed dead to the world.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 02: Alarm Signals

**THE LOST VOYAGES**

**The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been**

**by Soledad**

**ALTERNATE RESOLUTIONS**

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

**Author's note:** Chakotay's inherited genetic disorder is actually canon and served as the base of the episode "The Fight".

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER 02 – ALARM SIGNALS

Tom Paris hated it when people woke him in the middle of his well-earned resting period. He wasn't a good sleeper anyway – old reflexes were hard to break, which meant that he bolted upright in his bed at the slightest difference in background noises – and once his sleep was interrupted, he had a hard time to relax enough to fell asleep again. This only added up to the fact that – working on two posts like the most of the senior crew – he never really got enough sleep.

He usually did not react well to unscheduled wake-up calls… to put it mildly. This time, however, the unexpected caller was T'Prena, and that meant a crisis of considerable size. The Vulcan nurse could deal with the average medical problems well enough, especially with the help of the Ocampa doctors, whose unorthodox methods led to highly creative low-tech solutions. Consequently, she only called Tom off-shift when something occurred that, in her opinion, required solid Starfleet medical training to deal with.

Unlike other times, that knowledge made Tom wide awake in a moment.

"Yes, T'Prena, what can I do for you?" he asked, suppressing a yawn that, had he given in to it, could have dislocated his jaw with the intensity of it.

"I require your assistance, Mr. Paris," she answered in her usual, unshakable manner. "Commander Chakotay has been brought in from his quarters via emergency beam-out approximately one point six three minutes ago. He is… unresponsive, and my scans cannot provide any sound reason for that."

"Have you consulted the EMH?" Tom asked. He knew that – illogical as it seemed in the case of a Vulcan – T'Prena avoided to activate the irritating hologram whenever she could hope to get the job done without help.

"Of course," T'Prena replied, with a hint of disapproval in her level voice. She might find the holodoctor… distracting, but she would never be so unprofessional as not to use his knowledge when the well-being of a patient was at stake. "Unfortunately, he could not offer any insight." To make it easier, the crew referred to the holodoc as a real person, or else things would have become too awkward when dealing with him. He certainly had the attitude worth of three annoying individuals counted together.

"I see," Tom said. "What do you need _me_ for, then? I'm just a field medic."

"You are also a human being, Mr. Paris, and my experiences with Dr. Fitzgerald had taught me that while humans could be astonishingly illogical at times, they also have an instinctive ability to find solutions where pure scientific methods cannot. A… _hunch_, as he used to called it," she added, after some hesitation. "Neither Vulcans, nor holograms have this ability, and I still cannot tell for certain what the Ocampa are capable of. I would rather not experience with their abilities where the First Officer of this ship is concerned."

A Vulcan needing a hunch to solve a problem. Well, _that_ was certainly a first, and Tom didn't want to miss a moment of it. It was _almost_ worth losing another night of good sleep.

"I'll be right there with you," he said. "Give me ten minutes to grab a shower and get dressed, and I'll take a look at the commander."

"Acknowledged," T'Prena said and broke the connection.

* * *

Ten minutes and an XXL-sized cup of black coffee later – he had learned to be _very_ punctual under T'Prena's reglement – a freshly showered and highly curious Tom Paris entered Sickbay and walked up to the biobed holding the unconscious form of _Voyager_'s XO to take a look. The breath caught in his throat from the view offered to him. Whatever he might have expected, it certainly wasn't _this_.

Chakotay looked… _aged_ would have been the best word for it. His cheeks were hollow, his eyelids swollen and reddened, and if the head end of the biobed was any indication, he had begun losing his hair as well. As he was covered with a thermal blanket up to his armpits, Tom could only see the joints of his upper limbs, but even those did _not_ look good. His skin had gained a dry, parchment-like quality, and his knuckles, too, were swollen.

"Shit!" Tom said softly. "He oughtn't to look like this before hitting eighty… or more."

T'Prena nodded. "Precisely. And yet, according to my scans, Commander Chakotay is suffering from bone decalcification, tissue necrosis, decreased visual acuity."

"All classic signs of aging," Tom realized. "Only that he'd developed them within a few hours, right? Now, that's weird, even in Delta measures."

"Exactly," T'Prena replied. "According to the EMH, on Earth once existed a rare genetic disorder called _progeria_, which caused children to age prematurely, but not only had there never been any adult cases reported, it was also supposedly eradicated centuries ago. Quite frankly, Mr. Paris, I am at a loss."

"Perhaps it would be useful to take a closer look at the commander's DNA nonetheless," Tom suggested. "Especially at the segments that regulate his metabolism. I know it's not a fat chance, but there _might_ be some disturbance, caused by an unknown outside effect… or perhaps an inherited genetic degeneration that only surfaces at a certain age."

T'Prena's face was as bland as only that of a _very_ surprised Vulcan's could be.

"I fail to understand why you call yourself 'a simple field medic', Mr. Paris," she finally said. "Many experienced physicians would have never thought of _that_ as their first choice."

"Well, it's not so that I'm such a great medical mind," Tom said, a little embarrassed. "But I've been reading up on my genetics for over a year now, because of the Benzite babies. It's damn hard to keep them alive and thriving in such an alien environment, so I wanted to be prepared for possible problems. Anyway, making a thorough DNA scan shouldn't do any harm. We could set up an electron resonance scanner in Sam's… is Ensign Wildman's lab, to get a closer look. There isn't much going on at the moment."

"That would be the next logical step indeed," the Vulcan admitted, unknowingly giving Tom the absurd feeling of having been complimented… even though he knew as well as everyone else that Vulcan's weren't big at giving compliments. "However, I am reluctant to disturb Ensign Wildman's sleep, unless it is absolutely necessary. She sleeps little enough as it is, with a baby to breast-feed several times a night. I am certain that Ensign Golwat would be more than capable of setting up the scanner."

"Golwat is a paleogeologist," Tom reminded her.

"With a minor in engineering," she replied, unperturbed. "She can do this easily; and as she is currently on Gamma shift, it is only logical to give her the task, instead of Ensign Wildman who has her rest period right now."

"Yeah, but I don't think Chakotay would like his… condition to be discussed all over the ship," Tom commented dryly. "He's a very… private man. I thought you as a Vulcan would understand it better than anyone."

T'Prena gave him a blank look. "I do not understand your implications, Mr. Paris. Ensign Golwat is a trained Starfleet officer who has been taught how to deal with confidential information."

Tom couldn't resist to roll his eyes at her. "She's a _Bolian_, T'Prena! They tell their spouses _everything_. Even if you swore Golwat to secrecy, she'd tell it Chell. Family obligations count for them far more than orders. And once Chell learns about it, _everyone_ will know, within ten minutes. He's a good guy, but he just can't keep his mouth shut."

T'Prena digested that little bit of information for a moment, then she tilted her head to the side in a quick, almost bird-like manner.

"I believe you underestimate Mr. Chell," she said. "He might be an incurable gossip, but he is also very loyal to Commander Chakotay. I do not believe he would do anything to make the commander… uncomfortable."

Tom wasn't that sure about that. Good intentions were one thing, the _perpetuum mobile_ that was Chell's mouth an entirely different one. But in the end, it was T'Prena's responsibility how she dealt with doctor/patient confidentiality. She was the CMO of _Voyager_, despite being just a nurse; it was her call.

"Very well," he said with a shrug. "Golwat it is,"

_

* * *

_

There was no shadow anywhere on the endless, draught-plagued Savannahs that covered the equatorial region of K'tarr, and Granstar, the white-blue, one-and-a-half-solar-mass sun of the K'tarian homeworld, burned down mercilessly from the pale lilac sky as she was running for her life in the short, faded-purple grass. It was the Time of Hunt on K'tarr, a time when the females of the Pride willingly gave in to their primitive instincts and opened themselves to the Rage. Only in such times did anyone visit the savannahs, for spending a longer time there would have been deadly, even for the natives.

_She had seen the Hunt but once, in all the years spent with Gresk, and it had filled her with stark terror. Yet it was incomparably worse now that she was selected as the prey._

_The females chased her mercilessly across the grassy plain, moving like ghostly shadows of death. They had lowered themselves onto all four, which made them twice as fast as before, and almost undistinguishable from the great hunting cats that roamed the savannah freely. They were not wearing any clothes, and it seemed to her that their naked bodies were covered with short, thick golden fur, that of Terran lions not unlike. They growled, baring their teeth, and in their slanted, amber eyes burned a ravenous hunger for blood… her blood._

_She ran and ran, stumbling on invisible obstacles hidden under the grass. The females were getting closer; she could almost feel their hot breath upon her neck. It seemed to her as if Gresk would be watching the Hunt from afar – males were not allowed to participate, but they often came to admire the skills of their mates – and called out to him for help. But Gresk only shook his head in sorrow and said that the kittens needed to eat._

_Terrified by his answer, she tried to run faster, but her legs were getting numb from exhaustion. She stumbled again, and this time she could not keep her balance. She fell, but didn't even hit the grass fully when the females were all over her. She screamed when the sharp canines pierced her throat…_

* * *

Sam bolted upright in her bed, her heart pounding wildly, her entire body covered with cold sweat. She raised a hand to her throat, as if making sure she was not truly wounded. The dream – the _nightmare_ – had been so real; she could still feel the aching of her abused lungs and the sharp, white-hot pain when the lead female had torn out her throat.

As a rule, she wasn't prone to nightmares, being the calm and well-balanced person that she was. Granted, watching the Hunt of Gresk's Pride _had_ frightened her badly… so badly that she had steadfastly refused to witness any ancient K'tarian rites ever again. Gresk had been most understanding and gone alone whenever his presence would be demanded. Naomi, being a half-breed _and_ a female, had never been wanted.

Sam always knew that Gresk's Pride never liked her, but it seemed her subconscious knew better just how deeply they hated her. _That_ realization, as expressed in the nightmare, was downright terrifying. For a brief moment, she was almost glad to be lost in the Delta Quadrant, in the safe distance of seventy thousand light years from those furies.

Almost… but not quite. Because Gresk, although respecting the customs of his people as far as it was possible for him, had chosen _her_, despite their misgivings… and would never leave her, no matter what his Pride might say. _Well, they must be happy now,_ she thought waspishly. What they hadn't managed for five years, the Caretaker had done for them in the wink of an eye. Gresk was now divorced from her, by the rigid letter of K'tarian law, and even if it wouldn't take her seventy years to get home, they could never get back together again. Now they could arrange for Gresk a proper mating group, to build a family in proper K'tarian fashion. He wouldn't resist any longer; she knew that. He wouldn't seek another partner of his own choice. She had been the _one_ for him, and now that he'd lost her, he'd do what his Pride demanded from him.

The beeping of the comm system startled her from her thoughts.

"Ensign Wildman, the computer registered a rather… intense cry from your quarters," the level voice of the Vulcan nurse came through the speakers. "Do you require medical assistance?"

Sam had to swallow twice before she could answer, her voice still hoarse from having screamed with all her might just a few minutes ago. "No, thanks," she replied. "It was just a bad dream."

"Understood," T'Prena said. "Please call Sickbay if you need a mild sedative… or an acupressure treatment. Nurse Pharin would be more than willing to assist you."

"Will do, should things become worse," Sam promised. "Wildman out."

For a moment she lay exhausted in her bed, still unnerved by the vivid – and rather brutal – nightmare she'd just experienced. She eventually realized, though, that she should check whether she had scared the children with that scream. Granted, they slept in the adjoining room, and rooms on Starfleet ships were generally soundproof to provide the crew with some privacy, but she kept an emergency channel open, so that she'd always know if the children were in any kind of distress.

_Better safe than sorry_, she decided, swinging her legs off the bed… or at least trying to. Her limbs were unusually stiff, she found, and there was a tearing pain in her joints, forcing her to move slowly and _ungelenk_, like a Vulcan elder beyond their second century. She felt more than a little disoriented, too; it was hard to stay on her feet with that burning agony in her guts that could only be endured when she adopted a slumped stance.

_What's happening to me?_ She wondered, in rapidly growing panic. She knew she'd pass out in a minute, but she needed to get help before that happened – for herself _and_ for the children. Her mind working frantically through the handful of possibilities, she reached out for her comm badge with a last, heroic effort.

"Wildman to Tuvix," she gasped. "I need help… in my quarters… hurry…"

* * *

Tuvix had made another attempt to reach the depth of meditation his Vulcan half had been used to, for almost a century. In his unique status as a merged being that carried the traits and memories not only two very different races but also those of two diagonally opposite personalities, he'd found that meditation helped him to center, to focus on the person he was _now_. Not just the sum of seemingly incompatible parts, but something completely new.

However, the part of him that he'd inherited from Neelix made it almost impossible to unfold the mental abilities of his Vulcan half. The memories of the Talaxian were every bit as loud, intrusive and trivial as Neelix had been in person; constantly distracting him at the worst possible moment. It was not that he'd not appreciate the unexpected chance to contemplate infinite diversity in infinite combinations first-hand in the mind of the being that he'd become. He'd just have liked some peace and tranquillity to go through his mental exercises without interruption.

He wished he'd been allowed to stay in Tuvok's quarters. The clear, Spartan aesthetics of those rooms would have helped him to focus. Neelix' quarters were too distracting: too bright, too colourful, too cramped with an unbelievable amount of tasteless souvenirs the Talaxian had collected on his journeys. But he'd not been allowed to move back into Tuvok's quarters… or to access any of Tuvok's personal _or_ security files. Tuvok's command codes had been disabled; he was forced to use Neelix' codes, which had drastically restricted his access to most ship systems – including the chance to override the security lock on Tuvok's door.

When he'd turned to Ayala for help – all he' wanted was to get a few personal items out of the Vulcan's quarters – the big, burly ex-Maquis, now temporarily in charge of security, shrugged his heavy shoulders apologetically.

"Sorry, man, but I can't really do a thing," he said. "I don't have access to your… I mean _Tuvok's_ quarters, either. Only the captain has."

"Not even Commander Chakotay?" he asked in surprise.

Ayala had given him a grim smile. "_Especially_ not Chakotay," he'd said.

That little comment had said a lot. Tuvix understood now that while most of the ex-Maquis would support him personally – after all, had Chakotay and Ayala not been the ones who had opposed his forced separation the most forcefully? – they simply did not have the authorization to help him in a number of things. As for the Fleet crew, while they sympathized with his situation – with a few unfortunate exceptions who considered him an intruder, usurping _Tuvok's_ rightful place – they were too ingrained with Fleet discipline to act out of the line.

He did not blame them. As Tuvok, he would probably have done the same.

As _Tuvix_, however, it irritated the hell out of him.

He understood that it could not be helped, though. Unless he consented to be separated – which he was _not_ willing to do, not now, perhaps never – he would remain the outsider. Someone whom people generally liked but whom those who made the decisions not really trusted; and perhaps never would. The part of him that had been Tuvok was deeply, illogically hurt by that realization. The part that had been Neelix was insulted.

As _Tuvix_, though, he barely cared. He _liked_ what he had become, and wanted to explore the possibilities the merge offered him as fully as he could.

When the comm system clicked online, he was already done with another faulty attempt of meditation. Had Samantha's voice not been so full of panic, he might have been relieved by the chance to occupy his formidable mind with something different. Given the panic he could clearly hear in her voice, though, his only concern was to get to her as quickly as possible.

"Hold on, Samantha," he said, already running towards the nearest turbolift. "I'm on my way."

* * *

"How's the scanner doing, Golwat?" Tom asked anxiously, while T'Prena was practicing the unparalleled Vulcan virtue of patience.

Ensign Golwat, surprisingly tall and slender for a Bolian, gave him a reproving look. Like all Bolians, she was a very thorough person and did not like if people bothered her during work.

"I'm not specified in medical technology, Mr. Paris, and this is sensitive equipment," she replied tartly. "Give me here a moment, would you? If you want _quick_, you should have called for Lieutenant Torres."

"And have my nose broken for waking her in the middle of the night? No, thanks," Tom replied sourly. Torres might have calmed down considerable since serving on _Voyager_, but it was still better to stay in her good graces.

"I cannot think of anyone better suited for this task, Ensign," T'Prena intervened smoothly before things could have escalated. "Please allow not to be distracted by Mr. Paris' typically human display of impatience."

Golwat "blushed" a much darker blue at the compliment and changed something on the fine-tuning of the electron resonance scanner. "All right, give it a try."

T'Prena placed the sample into the test chamber of the instrument, took a look through the hooded scanner – and frowned.

"How's the resolution?" Golwat asked with professional concern.

"Adequate," the Vulcan replied, "but I need to focus on a particular segment of this DNA-sample. Can you give me more magnification?"

"Just a moment," Golwat changed the fine-tuning again. "Try now."

T'Prena peered into the hooded scanner again… and one of her arched eyebrows slowly climbed to the roots of her short-cropped hair. "Curious…"

"What _is_ it?" Tom was close to climbing the walls.

"There seems to be a… discrepancy of unknown kind," the Vulcan replied. "It did not show up on the first scan. Ensign, I need a closer look."

"I'm going to maximum magnification," Golwat adjusted the scanner again. "What do you see now?"

"I must admit that I am at a loss," T'Prena answered. "In my eighteen years as a medical assistant, I have never seen anything like this."

"Well, what _does_ it look like?" Tom all but exploded.

The Vulcan stepped to the side to make room for him. "See for yourself, Mr. Paris."

Tom did not need a second invitation. He peered into the scanner eagerly – and was baffled.

"I'm no microbiologist, but _that_ doesn't seem like it belongs there," he said.

"Believe me: it does not," T'Prena replied dryly. "At least not to any regular, healthy DNA."

"So, what are we gonna do now?" Tom asked.

"We need to consult the EMH," T'Prena said, one of the rare Vulcan non-expressions flickering across her lean face; this time it signalled resignation. "Transfer the results to the medical computer and return to Sickbay with me."

"Do you want me to disconnect the scanner, Lieutenant?" Golwat asked.

After a moment of consideration, T'Prena shook her head. "No. We might need it later again."

"Do you think we'll have to repeat the scan for the EMH?" Tom asked, while finishing the data transfer.

"No," T'Prena said with uncharacteristic grimness, "but unless this is a special condition for Commander Chakotay, which we shall learn as soon as the EMH gets access to his medical history file, it must be some contaminant he has encountered on the planet surface. In which case…"

"In which case we must count on further cases," Tom finished for her.

T'Prena nodded. "Exactly. However, right now this is purely theoretical and must _not_ be discussed outside this room," she gave the Bolian a look so chilling it could have crystallized the water damp particles in the air. "Ensign, should I hear any of this leaking out to the crew, including your spouse – or should I say _especially_ your spouse – I will be forced to take drastic countermeasures. Am I understood?"

"Aye, ma'am," Golwat gulped nervously. Hearing the word _drastic_ from a Vulcan would fill anyone with dread. Disregarding time-honoured family obligations, she decided to tell her spouse the news later. _Much_ later.

T'Prena nodded curtly and left, with an agitated Tom Paris in tow.

* * *

"Computer, initiate Emergency Medical Holographic Program," the Vulcan ordered upon re-entering Sickbay.

The balding, almost comically energetic – and depressingly high-spirited – image of _Voyager_'s holographic doctor flickered to life.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency," he rattled down his usual entrée.

Before either T'Prena or Tom could have answered, though, the doors of Sickbay slid open again, letting in a clearly very upset Tuvix, who wore nothing but a black meditation robe in Vulcan fashion and was carrying the unconscious Sam Wildman as if she had been but a child. Not that is should have been so surprising. Tuvix had Tuvok's height and Neelix' bulk and had displayed almost Vulcan-like strength before.

The panic clearly written into his dusky features was anything but Vulcan-like, though.

"Please," he cried in obvious distress, "I need help… _Samantha_ needs help!"

"What happened to Ensign Wildman?" T'Prena asked, while the Ocampa nurse, who'd been left to keep an eye on Chakotay, switched on the next biobed, without being ordered to do so. Like her father and the other Ocampa healer, she had become very familiar with Federation-issue medical facilities.

"I have no idea," Tuvix admitted. "She called me in my quarters and asked for assistance. I hurried over to her at once, but when I reached her quarters, she had already passed out."

"You should have asked for a site-to-site transport," Tom said accusingly.

"Believe me, I would have," Tuvix replied with a dry undertone in his voice," but like in many other things, my privileges in that particular area have been withdrawn."

"Well, that sucks," Tom said. He didn't really understand why Tuvix was treated so poorly. After all, neither Tuvok nor Neelix had been any threat for the ship.

"An adequate, albeit somewhat colourful expression," Tuvix commented. Now that he'd calmed down a little, he began to sound almost like a Vulcan again.

"We need to perform the same preliminary scans as by Commander Chakotay," T'Prena said. "And I shall order a level four quarantine for Sickbay and the exobiology lab. We also must call in and examine all members of the away team who ware don on that planet. Nurse Pharin, since Mr. Tuvix is already here, you can begin with him. Mr. Paris, you will make the scans for Ensign Wildman. Doctor, you and I need to discuss Commander Chakotay's medical history."

"You believe the commander and Sam have caught the same bug?" Tom asked.

"I do not _believe_ anything at this point," T'Prena replied. I work with _facts_, Mr. Paris, as every scientist should do. Fact is, both the commander and Ensign Wildman were members of the away team. Fact is, the biofilters of the transporter have no alarm when they were beamed back to _Voyager_. Fact is, both were brought to Sickbay, unconscious, just a few hours later. Now, this all could be a coincidence – one with the probability of four point six nine per cent – or else they have got infected by some unknown virus or bacteria down on the planet surface."

"And if that thing is airborne, we better start praying right now," Tom added darkly. "Cause in the meantime the members of the away team could have carried it around the entire ship."

"I doubt that applying to the supernatural would be very helpful in the current crisis," T'Prena replied. "Focus, Mr. Paris if you would. If we all concentrate and follow quarantine regulations, we shall make no mistakes, and might yet be able to contain this disease… assuming there _is_ one in the first place."

* * *

Next morning's staff meeting aboard _Voyager_ was _not_ a happy affair.

With Sickbay under quarantine, they were forced to hold a video-conference, with T'Prena, Tom and the EMH crowded in the CMO's office, while Nurse Pharin was watching the unconscious patients in the intensive care area. Several other members of the away team, among them Kes, could be seen occasionally in the examination room Tuvix running scans on them. He had been drafted as emergency med tech, as T'Prena didn't want any more medical personnel to be exposed to possible contamination.

With both the First Officer and the chief of security currently incapacitated, the command staff now consisted of Lieutenant Carey as chief engineer, Lieutenant Ayala as acting security officer, Lieutenant Ro as acting chief pilot, Ensign Kim as chief of operations and Lieutenant Stadi as ship's counselor. Janeway had also asked Lieutenant Rollins to join them with the predictable intention to have him stand in for Chakotay, as long as the XO was unavailable – a choice that not only the ex-Maquis were uncomfortable with.

Every single officer present was deeply concerned. An infectious disease aboard as starship was always a serious matter. Having to deal with one far away from any Starfleet medical facilities would prove disastrous.

"Give me the general picture, Lieutenant," Janeway ordered T'Prena. "Tell me the good news first, assuming there is any."

"The good news is, Captain, that so far only Commander Chakotay and Ensign Wildman are showing any symptoms," the EMH jumped in, before the Vulcan could have opened her mouth. "I'd like to keep the rest of the away team under surveillance for another forty-eight hours, but considering the virulent progress of the symptoms in the commander's and Ensign Wildman's case, I'm positive that nobody else was infected with… well, whatever it is. We'll keep up quarantine for the next two days, in case it still breaks out by someone else, but I don't think it would happen."

"Which means that the virus, or whatever causes the disease, isn't airborne," Tom added. "We've been fortunate… relatively spoken. By the speed this… thing progresses, we could have half the crew down and in a coma right now."

"Do you have any idea _what_ we are dealing with?" Janeway asked.

T'Prena shook her head. "None so far, Captain. We have taken dozens of scans of the bodies of both patients… We've analyzed body samples, trying to find the source of the infection, but so far, nothing indicates."

"Nothing bacteriological or viral at any rate, although there are certain organic-metabolic parallels between the patients," Tom added. "We're unable to isolate the source of the symptoms. Not even the electron resonance scanner has come up with anything out of order; well, save in Chakotay's case, but that's not a recent development."

"What do you mean?" Janeway asked sharply.

"Commander Chakotay has a genetic marker for a cognitive disorder," the EMH intervened again. "According to his medical file, he was born this way, and the gene had been artificially suppressed in his family before he was even born."

"What kind of disorder?" Janeway demanded.

"Sensory tremens," the EMH replied with a very convincing holographic shrug. "Bit that's in no way related to his current condition, so there's no need to worry, Captain. The gene has been inactive for two generations, and nothing indicated that it would have been switched on again."

"Are you sure about that, doctor?"

'Quite sure, Captain. The primary symptoms of sensory tremens are visual and auditory hallucinations. The commander displayed none of those. What he is displaying right now is bone decalcification, tissue necrosis, progressive arthritis in the joints, a decrease of vision and the beginning of hair loss."

"Sounds like premature aging to me," Stadi commented softly.

T'Prena nodded. "That was our first suspicion, too. That is why we made the DNA scan. We theorized that the DNA segments regulating the body's metabolism have been hyper-stimulated somehow."

"And?" Stadi asked. "Have they?"

"No," the Vulcan said. "Whatever causes the disease, it only simulates the symptoms of premature aging… for a reason that is so far unclear for us."

"Does Ensign Wildman show the same symptoms?" Stadi asked.

"At a somewhat slower rate, but yes, she does," the EMH answered. "Something is happening to their blood, too, and there's a definite weakening of their intestinal track, but these and other symptoms – like the reddened and swollen eyelids, the arthritic pain in the joins and the losing of hair – don't add up anything we could work with. Whatever is causing this, we can't isolate it. And if the disease keeps progressing the way it does now, they will be both dead within a few days."

"Understood," Janeway said. "Do you have any suggestions, doctor?"

"Right now, our primary goal should be to stop the progress of the disease, or, at least, to slow it down, until we do get closer to a solution," the EMH replied. "I suggest the modifications of two standard stasis chambers to turn them into cryogenic support units."

"You wanna _freeze_ them?" Tom asked in a shock.

The EMH gave him a look that expressed a strange mix of irritation and superiority – not a small feat for a hologram. "_Freezing_ them, as you so eloquently put it, Mr. Paris, _would_ hold the progress of the disease, at least for the time being, giving us the chance to do some thorough research and _perhaps_ find a cure."

"However," T'Prena added, "even that would only delay the inevitable, unless we can isolate the source of the infection… and soon."

"It still beats letting hem dire right away," Janeway said. "Very well then. Lieutenant Carey, set B'Elanna on the project. She'll do it a lot faster than anyone else. Lieutenant Ayala, I want all members of the away team questioned – thoroughly. If the commander and Ensign Wildman are the only one who got infected, it must have a reason. I want to know that reason. You can make those interviews while they're still in quarantine; it's not so as if they'd have anything else to do."

"Aye, Captain," Ayala replied crisply, wisely keeping the suspicion that the order had been made to keep _him_ occupied instead of messing around with the ship's security grid, to himself. Right now, he was the only ex-Maquis in a key position; he could not risk that status with mouthing off to the captain. Besides, he was a man of few words and many deeds to begin with.

Janeway, in the meantime, was a step ahead already. "Lieutenant Ro, continue to keep _Voyager_ in standard orbit," she said. "I want scans of the atmosphere, of the surface, of anything that could be useful. Have Astrometrics make a thorough analysis of the local sun's radiation. We never know where we'll stumble over a possible solution."

"Aye, Captain," Ro made an entry to her PADD, her impassive face not showing her feelings, but that did not fool anyone. All knew that Chakotay had been her tutor and role model since that advanced tactical training at Starfleet Academy, and that she would go through fire to help him. She did not make friends easily, but she was fiercely loyal to the few that she had made.

"Good. Lieutenant Rollins, while Commander Chakotay is unfit to perform his usual duties, you will be acting as First Officer," Janeway continued. "That would be all, ladies and gentlemen. We've got a lot to do – let's do it! Dismissed."

She marched out of the conference room with long, purposeful strides, followed by the senior officers. Staying behind for a moment, Ro Laren gave Ayala a look full of concern and suspicion.

"I don't know what _you_ think, Greg, but _I've_ got a bad feeling about this," she said. "A _very_ bad feeling.

Ayala nodded, his dark features grimmer than usual.

"Me, too," he said. "If we lose Chakotay, who will stand up for us in the future?"

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 03: Medical Investigations

**THE LOST VOYAGES**

**The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been**

**by Soledad**

**ALTERNATE RESOLUTIONS**

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

**Author's note:** Worf teaching Sito the Klingon _mok'bara_ discipline can be seen in the TNG-episode "Lower Decks". It's stated in the DS9-episode "Defiant" that Tom Riker has been imprisoned in the Lazon Two Labour Camp. I missed up the timeline a bit to bring him aboard in this story, but the time switch wouldn't really influence any canon events.

Vitta'ldi Al-Auriga is the elderly science officer sometimes seen in _Voyager_'s mess hall. Ensign Jurot is not given a first name in canon. Although some non-canon sources call her Juliet, I find it a little unlikely that as a Betazoid she'd have a human name. T'Ral is the unnamed Vulcan extra seen in the Maquis gathering in "Repression".

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER 03 – MEDICAL INVESTIGATIONS

Sito Jaxa walked down the intensive care area of _Voyager'_s sickbay to the newly modified stasis chambers that were now serving as cryogenic support units for Chakotay and Sam Wildman. She checked the control panels of both units, to see that the proper cryonic levels were being maintained. She stopped at Chakotay's chamber for a long while, trying to see a flicker of life on the big man's face, but to no end. The rime frost which had collected on the inside of the chamber's transparent aluminium lid gave the commander a ghostly look. Although all measuring instruments indicated that he lived, there was no sign of life on his face. Quite frankly, both he and Sam seemed to be encased in their coffins rather than in life-support devices.

She sighed in frustration. Her gaze had been fixed on the monitoring console for so long that she was beginning to feel more like an automated surveillance device than a being of flesh and blood. She had offered to do a double shift in the ICA, as both T'Prena and Tom Paris had reached their limits after the forty-eight hours of quarantine, filled with hectic activity, both in and outside of Sickbay. They needed a break, but they wanted someone to watch over them, someone whose abilities they trusted.

As the only other person with Starfleet field medic training, Sito had been drafted as ersatz med tech right at the beginning of their journey home, and most of the time she did not mind it, as she knew that she was _needed_. The Ocampa, as wonderful as they treated sick people, lacked the ability to make quick, life-and-death decision, to listen to their gut feeling. Unlike most Vulcans, T'Prena valued this ability and insisted that both Sito and Tom spend at least half a shift in Sickbay, every other day. They needed the practice to stay sharp, should an emergency occur – and they occurred in the Delta Quadrant with depressing regularity.

Most of the time, Sito liked the quiet and tranquillity of Sickbay; not right now, though. Not when the medical analytic units that were scanning the patients delivered the same data at every check-up: no change. All lights blinked yellow; no reds had started flashing in some time. Bruithir, the senior Ocampa doctor had commented that perhaps the spread of the disease had been stabilized. Perhaps.

No other cases had been reported ever since the away team's return, and that was a good sign. That meant whatever had caused this terrible illness, it was not airborne. Contact with the patients had still to be restricted and performed only with added security measures, since they still did not know how the disease was transmitted, but at least no one else had gotten inflected. And the patients were stable.

But that was little comfort. Watching Chakotay lying in a cryogenic unit like a lifeless husk hurt. It hurt her almost physically. This was the same strong, brave man who had attacked the Lazon Two labour camp – one of the worst of all Cardassian labour camps – with only two battered little ships and a handful of men, to free the prisoners there; she herself, Gerron and Tom Riker were among those. They owed Chakotay so much, more than just their lives, and now that _he_ would need help, Sito could do nothing.

She almost wished one of the patients would go critical, so she could press a button, raise the temperature levels, initiate revival measures … just to be _doing_ something. _Anything_.

Being so helpless burdened _pagh_ – her soul – greatly. She wished she would still be a believer, so that she could beg the Prophets of her people for help. But she had lost her faith as a child already… all she could feel was emptiness.

"Any change?" the deep voice of Ayala asked from behind him. She whirled around, instinctively taking on the defensive stance of a basic _mok'bara kata_, as taught her by Commander Worf during her short service aboard the _Enterprise_ – then she recognized Ayala and relaxed.

"Oh… it is you, Greg…" she said, relieved. She knew she was being unnecessarily jumpy, but she couldn't help it. "No, there are no changes. What about you? Have you figured out anything during your interviews?"

Ayala shook his massive head in regret. "Nah. Neither Kes, nor the Fleeters could tell me a thing that would be useful… not that I'd be surprised. Tuvix said that Wildman and the Chief were separated from them for quite a while. Whatever happened to them, it had to be when they were on their own."

"Too bad they can't tell us what it was," Sito said.

"Actually… they might be," Ayala replied. "Are you sure the EMH can't wake them from the coma?"

Sito shrugged. "I suppose he could if he had to – but that would only speed up the progress of the disease. At least they are stable now."

"Yeah, but for how long?" Ayala asked. "T'Prena said herself that cryogenic stasis won't keep them alive forever. If they could tell what happened, perhaps it would help to find the bug that's killing them."

"Perhaps," Sito allowed, not entirely convinced. "Have you made the suggestion to the Captain?"

"Me? To her?" Ayala laughed, but without humour. "You don't really believe she'd listen to _me_, do you? I'm just muscle, after all… and not even _her_ muscle."

Sito nodded slowly. She knew Ayala was right. Even after two years of shared struggle to keep alive and to get home, Janeway's reactions clearly showed that she still did not trust the ex-Maquis half as much as she'd trust any Fleeter. She did not even listen to Chakotay, most of the time, who had really gone out of his way to cooperate and to support her.

"I'm afraid that's true," she said. "But if there's half the chance that they might say something helpful, I won't leave it unused."

"I don't think she'll listen to you any more than to me," Ayala warned. "You're not just any Maquis in her eyes – you're a Fleet deserter. A traitor."

"I know," Sito shrugged. "That's why I'm going to talk to T'Prena first. The captain might ignore _us_, but she can't override _her_. She _is_ our Chief Medical Officer; in such matters, she has the highest authorization."

"Yeah, but how do you intend to persuade her?" Ayala asked doubtfully.

Sito gave him a wicked grin. "I'm gonna use logic," she replied.

_

* * *

_

Inside the two bodies, the organism that had invaded them was quiescent, numbed by the cold which the cryogenic suspension chamber maintained at a steady level. Eventually it could adjust to the cold and revive, but for now, it was held in suspension just like its hosts. Its renewal would mean the end of its own existence, as well as its hosts'. Fortunately, it was not bothered by fears of mortality, so that it could not perceive its own impending doom – that when Chakotay and Wildman died, it would die, too.

* * *

The staff meeting in the next morning was a rather… _explosive_ one.

"You want to do _what_?" Janeway demanded, and several members of the senior staff, including Lieutenant Rollins (who was already wearing the red uniform of the command division to emphasize his new, albeit temporary status) and Joe Carey, literally shrank in their seats, trying to become invisible.

T'Prena, however, was not so easily intimidated.

"I intend to have Commander Chakotay and Ensign Wildman brought out of the coma, so that they could tell us what happened to them," she repeated calmly. "Captain, this is the only logical step left for us. So far, Lieutenant Ayala's interviews have remained inconclusive. All we have learned is that the commander and the ensign were separated from the away team for a while. Something must have happened to them during this time; something the others are not aware of and therefore cannot tell us."

"But would waking them not quicken the progress of the disease?" Harry Kim asked in concern. He had come to respect Chakotay greatly in the last two years; plus, he was a good friend of Sam's.

"There _is_ a certain risk involved," T'Prena admitted. "However, I see no other chance to learn about the origins of the disease. And without being able to isolate the source, we cannot hope to find a cure. We need _facts_ to work with, Captain."

"I see," Janeway turned to the special monitor that connected the conference room with the EMH. "Doctor, what is your opinion? How are the patients doing?"

"Surprisingly enough, not only are they stable, they also seem to be recovering the bit," the EMH replied. "As if their system would be trying to repair the damage done to them while the virus, or whatever is causing their condition, is incapacitated by the cryogenic suspension. I can't explain it."

"In that case, it would be irresponsible to wake them, wouldn't it?" Janeway asked, and a chilling suspicion began to rear its ugly head in Gregor Ayala.

Things between the captain and Chakotay had been… less than amiable, for quite some time. Even before the Tuvix incident, they had a few spectacular clashes of will, and while Janeway had managed to do things to her own liking so far, it was by no means sure that she would always succeed in the future. Could she be trying to use this medical emergency to get rid of her uncomfortable First Officer in favour of a more… adaptable one, like Rollins? Even if it meant the collateral damage of the loss of Sam Wildman?

He exchanged a look with Ro, and the deepening of her frown told him the she was asking herself the same question. Sure, it would be ruthless, even for someone who had been known as a first class career-oriented Fleet brat all her life, but… Had she not been the prize pupil of Admiral Paris himself? The same Admiral Paris who'd not only discarded his own son without a second thought for not matching his high expectations but had also been the driving force behind the decision of handing over all those Federation colonies in the DMZ to the Cardassians? Just how much of _that_ kind of thinking had Janeway absorbed while serving with Owen Paris?

Some of the recent events made Ayala believe that it might have been more than he felt comfortable with. And that suddenly made him very afraid for Chakotay.

"It would be irresponsible _not_ to try to figure out what happened," the EMH answered to Janeway's question. "We can't keep them in cryogenic suspension for an inderetermine time. Sooner or later this… this viral agent will adapt to the altered environmental conditions and kill them."

"Besides," Tom Paris added quietly, "we need to know the bug we're dealing with. What if it's capable of staying alive outside of a host body? We could risk contaminating the entire ship and taking it with us to other planets – unless we learn what it is and how we can terminate it."

_That_ made Janeway think, and Ayala suppressed a grin, remembering what Tom had said to the captain, right after they had gotten lost in the Delta. It was something like _You_ _might have been the best student of the Admiral, Captain, but I used to be his __son_. At times like this, it certainly showed that Tom knew how to handle his father's pupils. _Duty_ and _responsibility_ were among the key words ingrained so deeply that they could not ignore them.

"Very well," Janeway said after some consideration. "Do it. But I want results, doctor. Results that would justify taking such risks."

* * *

It was a long time after the cold gasses had been withdrawn before Chakotay became aware that he had been stored in a stasis chamber. No; not a stasis chamber… it had to be some kind of cryogenic suspension unit, although he never knew _Voyager_ had anything like that on board. Well, he always knew that there were things he had not been told, but this… this was surprising nonetheless.

A face swam into his narrowed field of vision, and he recognized Sito's deceivingly soft features, her heavy sheaf of blonde hair, shaved off in the Cardassian labour camp, now grown out completely again. She was a gentle soul, but it would have been a grave error to underestimate her. An error many had made during her short career in the Maquis – and regretted.

She was also talking to him in a low voice, explaining something about a disease and the frantic yet ultimately failed effort to isolate its source and find a cure. It was all very confusing, and he could not really understand what she wanted from him, although it might explain the tearing pain in his limbs and his back. His eyes hurt, too, and his throat felt like the parched soil of a desert planet.

"Water," he whispered hoarsely. "Pain…"

Sito's face vanished from before his eyes and was replaced by that of the Vulcan nurse whose name he couldn't remember at the moment. Someone inserted a bent plastic tube into his mouth, so that he could finally think, which was an enormous relief.

"Small, careful sips," the Vulcan warned him. Then he felt a hypospray being pressed to his neck. It emptied with a hiss, pumping a stimulant and, most likely, some painkillers into his bloodstream, because the pain slowly ebbed into a dull ache, and his thoughts began to clear as well.

"So," he said when his throat seemed to be working again. "I've apparently been ill. What happened?"

"We were hoping _you_ could tell us, Commander," the Vulcan – T'Prena, her name was T'Prena, he remembered now – answered truthfully. "Do you feel strong enough to come to the doctor's office? We have set up a live feed with the conference room, so that we can discuss the matter with the rest of the senior staff."

"Sure," Chakotay muttered, accepting Sito's help to get out of the cryo-chamber. She was stronger than she looked, he knew, so he could lean on her as much as it was necessary.

Standing upright proved easier than he had thought. He did feel a little dizzy, but supported by Sito, he managed the short way to the CMO's office that T'Prena and the EMH shared. The holodoctor was already activated, and an unusually pale Sam Wildman was sitting in one of the seats. She looked like death warmed over: her eyelids were reddened and swollen, and her slumped stance spoke of a great deal of pain.

"Is she ill, too?" Chakotay asked, lowering himself into an empty seat, mindful of the still-present ache in his joints. That hypospray must have contained some industrial-strength painkillers, as the pain was actually bearable. Wildman looked a lot worse to wear, at least until Sito came forth with a hypospray and dosed her, too. After a moment, Wildman sighed and relaxed a little. That answered the question without any further words.

"Captain, is the transmission clear?" the EMH asked. "We're about to begin our investigation."

Janeway's image on the viewscreen nodded. "Please proceed, doctor. The sooner we get to the root of this problem the better."

"Of course, Captain," the EMH turned to the patients. "Well, then… what's the last thing you remember?"

"Settling down for a vision quest," Chakotay replied. "I was feeling… out of sorts, somehow, and wanted to find out why. I remember activating the _akoonah_, but after that – everything is empty… just blackness…"

"Me, I had a bad dream," Sam added. "When I woke up, I was bathed in cold sweat, my throat was sore, and my joints and my stomach felt as if they were on fire. It was… intensely painful. I could barely call Tuvix for help before I passed out."

"It must have happened very quickly," T'Prena said. "I contacted Ensign Wildman in her quarters at oh-three hundred hours twenty-six, board time, as the computer had recorded a scream of distress from her rooms. She answered me that it had only been a bad dream, sounding a little agitated, yet she assured me that she was all right. Seven minutes fifty-nine seconds later Mr. Tuvix brought her to Sickbay, unconscious, feverish and suffering from progressive arthritis."

"That _is_ quick," Harry Kim's voice could be heard from the background, full of concern. "And they are still the only ones who got infected? That's odd."

"They must have come in contact with the pathogen while separated from the rest of the away team," T'Prena answered. "Ensign Wildman, please tell us everything you can remember about that particular time period."

"There isn't much to tell, really," Sam replied apologetically. "We were only apart for fifteen minutes… twenty at most. We were gathering foodstuffs, like everyone else."

"Which plants, exactly, did you gather?" the Vulcan interrupted.

Sam shrugged… and winced at the white-hot pain lancing through her shoulder from the careless gesture.

"Commander Chakotay found this plant with the purple tuber roots he thought might be some sort of potato," she said, "but the tests showed that it was mildly toxic. Then I came across the pea-like pod fruits next, and we packed a lot of those before we decided to go back for the tubers after all."

"What for?" the EMH asked. "They _were_ toxic, weren't they?"

"But only mildly," Sam explained. "We hoped that perhaps the toxins would be neutralized if we cooked the tubers. Or that Airponics would be able to breed a non-toxic version, eventually, and we could have potatoes, after all. We were trying to dig out a bush in a whole when I got bitten by that insect, and…"

"Stop," the EMH ordered. "Have I understood you correctly, Ensign? You've been bitten by an insect? Why does in not stand in your mission report?"

"It was just an insect bite, not an attack from a cave bear, for God's sake!" Sam snapped. She felt like shit and wanted nothing else but rest some more. "Besides, Commander Chakotay sucked the wound dry, so what's the fuss?"

"He did _what_?" the EMH did a very convincing personification of a human doctor in stunned disbelief. Then he whirled around to face Chakotay. "Forgive my phrasing, Commander, but – are you out of your mind? What were you _thinking_? No, don't answer that; clearly, you _weren't_ thinking at all!"

Chakotay rolled his eyes – which was _not_ completely painless in his current condition, but he couldn't resist. "Calm down, doc we do this on Dorvan V with snake bites all the time."

"And that's supposed to make me agree with your actions?" the EMH retorted in a scathing tone. "Newsflash, Commander: you're not on Dorvan V anymore. You're in an unexplored quadrant of the galaxy, full of unknown viruses and bacteria. It's dangerous enough, even if you don't display stellar examples of reckless stupidity."

"That's quite enough, doctor," Janeway interrupted sternly. She might agree with the EMH, but she couldn't accept his behaviour towards a senior officer.

"But Captain, we can't condone such actions from…" the EMH began, but she didn't let him finish.

"I said: enough," she repeated, a little more forcefully. "Let's focus on the important things. Ensign Wildman, you say you were bitten by an insect. What kind of insect was it? Can you remember?"

"Vaguely," Sam frowned, trying to recall the details. "It was some kind of burrowing insect, or rather the larval form of it, I think. I had relatively large pincers, at least compared with the rest of its body, and many legs that seamed it like fringes. I couldn't see it well, as it moved very quickly. When it bit me, I shook it off instinctively, and it was gone in the moment it hit the ground."

"What about the wound?" T'Prena asked.

"Two small puncture wounds like the bite of a snake, just smaller and differently placed," Chakotay answered. "The bite was deep and barely bled, so I feared that some kind of fast-working toxin might have been released into her bloodstream. That's why I tried to get it out of her immediately, not because I'm too stupid to call Sickbay," he added, clearly annoyed.

Ayala nodded. "Yeah, the way you saved my life when that rattlesnake bit me," he remembered. "Had we waited for the antidote, I wouldn't be sitting here now."

"Exactly," Chakotay said. "Sometimes you just can't beat the well-proved old methods."

The EMH gave a derisive snort yet made no comment.

"That may be so," T'Prena said, "yet in this particular case it was clearly the wrong choice. Ensign Wildman caught the disease, despite your efforts, Commander; all you achieved was to get infected yourself."

"Which fact at least answers _one_ of the open questions," the elderly Ocampa doctor said. "The pathogen is clearly transmitted by sharing body fluids; in this case through Ensign Wildman's blood."

"I didn't swallow it!" Chakotay protested. The old doctor nodded.

"Of course not, But it got in contact with your saliva nonetheless, and apparently, that was enough fort he pathogen to jump hosts. It must be highly infectious indeed."

"Oh my God!" Sam became deathly pale, even paler than she already was because of her illness. "I've nursed my baby after returning from the planet. Could he be infected, too?"

"An hour ago, when I made my last check in the child care area, the baby seemed normal, although he did cry a lot," Stadi answered. "We will have to test him, of course."

Tom rose. "I'll do it. He knows me, and I can handle him."

"Not without a biohazard suit," T'Prena warned him. "Lieutenant Stadi and any possible persons who had contact with the baby must be tested, too. We come in contact with body fluids in more ways than most people are aware of."

"We still need to isolate the pathogen itself," the Ocampa doctor said. "The best thing would be to capture one of those insects and dissect it. I don't really see any other way – we must go back to the planet."

"No," Chakotay said. "I will go." He raised his hand before the chorus of protests could rise. "Look, I'm already infected, aren't I? And I feel a lot better now, so why put anyone else at risk?"

"You feel better because you have been pumped full of stims and painkillers," Stadi pointed out. "That effect won't last long."

"Then we should hurry up as long as it lasts, shouldn't we?" Chakotay said.

The chorus of protests threatened to rise again. This time, it was T'Prena who stopped it.

"What Commander Chakotay says does have its merits," she admitted. "I also suggest that Ensign Wildman should accompany him, as she is the only one who has actually seen the insect in question. However, I want you both to wear a monitor, so that you can be beamed directly to Sickbay at the first sign of distress."

* * *

The suggestion led to another brief but heated argument between the senior staff and the medical personnel. In the end, though, event he strongest opponents of the idea (namely Harry Kim and Ro Laren) had to admit that there was simply no other way to choose. And so twenty minutes later Chakotay and Sam Wildman found themselves down on New Earth again, accompanied by Sito in a hazmat suit. She was supposed to monitor their vitals constantly.

Needless to say that her participation was one of the reasons why Harry had been so vehemently against another visit to the planet surface. Their relationship was still fairly new, Harry still in full protective mode, even though he knew that Sito could beat him blindfolded and with one arm bound to her back, without breaking a sweat. She had been trained by a Klingon, after all, and Bajorans were a hardy people to begin with – otherwise they could never have survived the Cardassian occupation.

But Harry was, in the heart of his hearts, a hopeless romantic – the flowers and chocolate and candlelit dinner type of boyfriend, and the wish to protect the woman he loved was part of that package. Yes, it was unnecessary and old-fashioned, but he could not change how he felt.

This time, however, he couldn't even argue too long. Tom Paris was testing the Wildman baby and all the children who got in contact with him for possible infection. T'Prena's analytic mind was needed on board to help the EMH with the research, and no one dared to expose another Ocampa to whatever might lurk on the surface. Despite their mental powers, physically they were still very fragile, even after the treatment on Suspiria's array, unused to work under natural circumstances. They had lived in artificial environments for many generations, and were thus a lot more vulnerable than regular Starfleet personnel.

That left Sito to go with the patients, and she did so willingly. At least she could be useful that way. She had packed several hyposprays, just in case, and was determined to end the whole excursion, should either Sam or Chakotay show any sign of weakness. She was _not_ taking any chances.

"The painkillers should start wearing off any time now," she said while they were approaching the place where, according to Chakotay's memories, they had found the potato-like bush during their last visit.

"Actually, I feel just fine," Sam replied, mildly surprised. "In fact, a lot better than I felt aboard _Voyager_."

"What about you Chief?" Sito turned to Chakotay, the old honorary address coming to her lips naturally; it was a mistake, and she chided herself for it mentally. They were _not_ supposed to vocalize their unbroken loyalty towards their former captain. "You got the hypospray a little earlier than Sam. Has your condition worsened in any way?"

Chakotay shook his head. "No; to tell the truth, I can even see a little better now, and the tearing in my joints is nearly gone. Sure, they still ache a little, but not by half as bad as they had in Sickbay, even with all those painkillers in my system."

"That's odd," Sito scanned them both and frowned. "According to my readings, you barely had any residue of the painkillers left in you. You should be writhing on the ground in pain – yet you check out almost fine."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Chakotay said dryly. "Well, let's put this temporary bolt of miraculous healing to good use and start looking for that bug. I have the bad feeling that the effect won't last long."

That was a logical assumption, yet the next couple of hours proved him wrong. They were not getting any worse while setting up insect traps around the tuber root plants; on the contrary. The pain was now almost completely gone, and their vision had improved considerably, too. True, they were still weak from their recent ordeal, but even Chakotay's parched skin began to smooth out again.

"Ensign Sito, are you telling me that the symptoms of the disease are lessening while the patients are down on the planet surface?" T'Prena asked, so utterly confused as perhaps no Vulcan had ever sounded since the time of the Awakening. "That it simply stopped spreading, like during cryogenic suspension?"

"No, Lieutenant," Sito replied. "I mean, unless there's something wrong with this tricorder, they're _recovering_ from the symptoms."

"From the _symptoms_ – yet not the illness itself, is it right?" T'Prena tried to clarify.

"I don't know," Sito could barely contain her frustration. "There still are a lot of anomalous readings that the tricorder can't verify; something is still happening within them, but they aren't currently displaying the symptoms. For the naked eye, they look almost healthy. It happens every bit as fast as the symptoms emerged in the first place. I'm sure that within a few days, even the Commander's hair would begin to grow again."

"Let us not be bothered with the cosmetic aspects of the recovery," T'Prena said. "Please transfer your data to Sickbay for further analysis. In the meantime, as being on the planet surface seems to be helpful for the patients, I suggest that you continue the search for the insect that had bitten Ensign Wildman. If you can find a specimen the doctor and I can begin analyzing protein cofactors. That might give us the information we need to find out what is in the planet's environment that lessens the symptoms and how to replicate it."

"That would still be no cure, though," Sito commented, finishing the data transfer. "Just a way to suppress the symptoms."

"True," the Vulcan admitted. "But it would be considerably more than what we have right now."

"I se," Sito hesitated a moment. "Lieutenant, Ensign Wildman would want to know whether her baby has been infected…"

"To my regret, he has," T'Prena replied. "Lieutenant Torres is currently working on turning one of the incubator units into a baby-sized cryogenic chamber."

"How bad is it?" Sito asked.

"Sensor scans indicate the same organic-metabolic changes than in the adult patients," T'Prena answered. "Strangely enough, though, the baby is not displaying any of the symptoms – yet."

"He's still a carrier, then," Sito murmured, "and besides, the symptoms can surface as speedily as they did by Sam. What about Naomi?"

"The girl is unaffected, and so is everyone who had contact with the family."

"Thank God for small favours," Sito sighed; this was a phrase she'd picked up from Harry. "I'll inform Ensign Wildman. When are we due to return to _Voyager_?"

"The analysis of the data will require at least two point four six hours," the Vulcan said. "You have exactly that long to find an insect."

* * *

All fourteen science labs of _Voyager_ were busy like beehives in the next two and half hours, trying to figure out from the sensor sweeps and surface scans anything that might prove helpful in isolating the pathogen – and terminating it. So far, they had made little headway. They had managed to gather a great amount of data, but they were inconclusive and a greater picture couldn't be put together.

"The sun of the system is a yellow dwarf star of the type G6," Ensign Crisa Jurot, the current head of Astrometrics, a slender, dark-haired Betazoid woman, dictated into her lab's scientific log, "with a solar mass of zero point eighty and a luminosity of Sol factor minus two. It density is 102 g/cm3, not unusual for a star of its size. Spectral analysis shows well defined helium and kalium lines, while hydrogen lines are receding. Strong presence of magnesium, calcium, chrome and ionized carbon are present. A more detailed analysis of radiation effects is necessary to calculate any possible environmental consequences…"

"The planet itself is part of a system of seven and is a standard Class M, with a geologically active core, "Ensign Golwat recorded in the geology lab. "The surface is silicate and water, with a ration of one to four in favour of the water. The atmosphere is oxidizing. The single land mass covers the equatorial area like a broad girdle around the entire planet. The axis of the planet is in a right angle with the ecliptic plane. Both polar caps are frozen. It seems likely that the planet is – in geological terms – slightly younger than Terra, but that doesn't make it unfit for human colonization…"

"The flora is typical for most Class M planets, with the single peculiarity that many plants tend to have blossoms, fruits and roots – some even leaves – in various shades of pink, lilac or purple," _Voyager_'s only botanist, a silver-haired, dark-skinned lieutenant by the name of Vitta'ldi Al-Auriga (he was half-Centaurian and used the name of his mother's family) recorded. "So far, we couldn't find the reason for this tendency, but many of the plants are well-suited for human consumption. There have been little encounters with the local fauna, save from a few insects, but there can't be any doubt about the existence of amphibian, avian or even mammal lifeforms, if the general environment is any indication. Finding animals on a jungle world usually requires more than two short visits on the surface…"

Having worked herself through all preliminary reports from the science labs, Captain Janeway dropped her PADD onto the desk in frustration.

"If I understand correctly what I've read so far, we are no closer to a solution than we were in the morning," she said, obviously displeased. "Despite the fact that Chakotay and Wildman seem to be recovering down there speedily."

"They are not _recovering_," T'Prena corrected. "They are just not displaying the symptoms any longer. The pathogen is still in their system, it just seems to be unable to harm them while they are on the surface… a fact neither I nor the doctor could explain at the moment. That would not help them in the end, though, unless we find a way to terminate the source of their illness. We cannot leave them behind on the planet, after all."

"Who knows," Janeway answered after a long, meaningful pause. "There might not be any other solution in the long run. But I'm not willing to give up just yet. Call them back and have all facts that might have led to this unexpected recovery analyzed. Compare their scan results with those of Wildman's baby – perhaps there is some common factor that suppresses the symptoms."

"Calling them back will cause the resurfacing of the symptoms and the worsening of their condition with a possibility of seventy-eight point nine per cent," T'Prena warned.

Janeway nodded.

"I'm aware of that risk, Lieutenant. Have the cryogenic chambers ready, in case that happens. But we have to take risks if we want to find a solution."

* * *

"Easy for her to say," Ken Dalby growled; he and a few other ex-Maquis had been listening to the conversation via a live fed from the bridge. "It's _Chakotay_'s life she's putting at risk, not her own. What if they get worse when she brings them back?"

"They most certainly _will_ get worse," T'Ral, the only Vulcan among the ex-Maquis, who currently served on the bridge as a sensor operator and analyst, said with emphasis. "T'Prena might not be a physician, but she is an adequate medical scientist and a trained nurse. I have made my own analysis on the data, of course, but she is right. Whatever it is that suppresses the symptoms, is not going to work aboard _Voyager_. They were even deteriorating, albeit at a much slower rate, while in cryogenic suspension."

"Wait a minute!" Dalby interrupted. "I thought they were recovering in cryo-stasis. Wasn't that what the EMH said?"

"They were recovering from the _symptoms_," T'Ral corrected. "The pathogen itself kept spreading throughout their bodies. It just slowed down considerably."

"I don't understand," Ro shook her head, her ceremonial earring clinking. "The data make no sense at all!"

"Not yet," the Vulcan agreed. "This is something Federation medicine has not encountered before. I am certain that – given enough time – T'Prena and the EMH eventually _will_ find a cure. I am just not sure…"

"You're just not sure Chakotay and Wildman _have_ enough time," Ro finished for her.

T'Ral nodded.

"Do you… do you think she'll really leave them behind if no cure is found, and soon?" Mariah Henley asked tentatively. She was sitting on the sofa next to Dalby, as if seeking comfort. The two of them have moved in together but a few weeks earlier, after a long and somewhat convulted dance around each other.

"Over my dead body," Ro declared darkly. "Or _hers_."

"Do not be unreasonable, Lieutenant," T'Ral said. "That solution, although emotionally stressful for the majority of the crew, would, at least, save their life. Unless I have severely misunderstood the data – which is, frankly, rather unlikely – they cannot be kept in cryogenic suspension longer than four months before the viral agent adapts and the illness will break out again, with full force. If no cure is found within that timeframe, they will both _die_. That is a fact. On the planet, they could at least live out the rest of their life naturally."

"Trapped on an alien world, alone, abandoned, without a chance to ever leave," Henley commented bitterly. "That's just not fair."

"Life is rarely fair, Mariah, and you know that," the Vulcan said almost gently, their long acquaintance entitling her to call Henley by her first name. "But should they choose to stay, we would have to respect that decision."

"But only if they choose of their own free will," Ro said. "I won't let that choice be forced upon them." She glanced at Ayala who had been listening to their arguing with a gradually darkening face. "Greg, are the old code words still working?"

The acting chief of security nodded. "Oh, yes. Everyone knows where to be and what to do, in case things become a little…hairy."

"Good," Ro said. "Keep our people on standby alert. This will be _Chakotay_'s choice, even if we have to launch a mutiny to ensure that."

She stormed out of Henley and Dalby's shared quarters, followed by the Vulcan. Ayala remained behind for a moment, shaking his head.

"I understand why she wants to do this," he said, "but I think at this moment it would be a mistake. We wouldn't have a rat's chance to pull a thing of this magnitude without the Chief calling the shots."

"Besides, if I know the Cap, and we both know that I do, he would never endanger the rest of us, just to be allowed to die in a cryo-tube," Dalby pointed out. "I'm sure he'd choose to have a normal life, even if it means to be left behind, alone."

"Not alone," Henley said with grim determination. "Ken, I know you still have family back home, and so do I, but… I think if Chakotay must stay behind, we should stay with him, too. Who knows if _Voyager_ ever finds a way home; or if any of our people will be still alive? But the Cap _will_ be here, and he doesn't deserve to be alone. Yes, I know Wildman would probably stay, too, but the Cap would need at least _some_ of his own with him."

Ken Dalby looked from her to Ayala, then back to her, his hard-bitten face softening with fondness and wonder.

"And people asked what I saw in her," he murmured, patting her knee in order not to look sappy.

"You'd be willing to stay behind with the Chief?" Ayala asked, fairly stunned. "Both of you?"

"We won't let him behind," Mariah said stubbornly. "And we won't be separated, either."

"He won't like it," Ayala warned them.

Dalby grinned. "Sure he won't, but what can he do? Report me for insubordination? Or leave me behind on some uninhibited planet?"

They laughed, as this was certainly true. But Ayala had the feeling that Chakotay would not accept their decision easily; if, indeed, he'd accept it at all.

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 04: The Exiles

**THE LOST VOYAGES**

**The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been**

**by** **Soledad**

**ALTERNATE RESOLUTIONS**

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

**Author's note:**

More about the various cultures of the Alpha Centauri Concordium of planets can be found in "Mission to Daleth IV".

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER 04 – THE EXILES

Another four hours later Ayala's feeling proved to have been the right one. Chakotay would not even hear of anyone else staying behind on his behalf.

"It's out of question, Ken," he told Dalby, who – flanked by Henley and Gerron – visited him in Sickbay. "You can't do anything to help me down there, and I couldn't live with the thought that the two of you had sacrificed your future to hold my hands." He looked down at said hands in resignation. Now that he was back on _Voyager_, his knuckles had begun to swell again, and the hands themselves were shaking. "Is _this_ what you want for yourself? Or for Mariah? I don't think so."

"We wouldn't get sick down on the surface," Dalby said stubbornly.

"Oh, yes, you would," Chakotay replied grimly. "You just wouldn't be showing the symptoms. I won't allow it, Ken; and if I'm still _the Chief_ that I used to be for you, you'll do as I say. Otherwise we won't have anything to say to each other."

Dalby shifted his weight from one leg to another uncomfortably.

"Cap, don't do this," he all but begged. "You can't possibly wish to stay here alone!"

"Right now, I'm still hoping that T'Prena and the EMH will find a cure in time," Chakotay answered. "But yes, if there's no other choice, Sam and I will stay here – with her children. It might not be what we've dreamed of, but it will be at least _life_, not slow dying in a cryo-tube."

"Why won't you let us stay with you, then?" Dalby demanded. "_We_ could have a good life here, too!"

"Oh, no," Chakotay laughed quietly. "You would _hate_ it, and we both know that. You could never endure being trapped on that planet. Besides, you're needed on _Voyager_."

"What for?" Dalby asked flatly. "I'm just a third-class technician, fumbling around in Engineering, and Mariah does nothing else on that bridge than recalibrate the damned sensors. She's a passable pilot, you know that, but they never allowed her to fly as much as a shuttle. Not _once_."

"That may be so," Chakotay said, "but the _others_ need you. There aren't that many of us left, and Greg will need you to watch his back, should things with the Fleeters take an ugly turn." He did not mean the Fleeters in general, and Dalby knew that. Still, it was better _not_ to be too specific, in case Sickbay was being monitored. "They _need_ you, Ken," he repeated. "_Gerry_ needs you. You're all he has left."

All eyes turned involuntarily to Gerron, and the young Bajoran blushed. He had come so far from the damaged, terrified creature they had saved from the Lazon Two labour camp, but even after his bond with Kes and becoming a father, he was still almost painfully shy.

"I… I can do this, Chakotay," he murmured. "I have Kes, after all, and the baby, and… and Harry and Sito are there, too…"

"I know you _can_ do it, Gerry," Chakotay said gently; it wouldn't do any good to undermine the young man's confidence, which was shaky at the best times. "But you don't _have_ to do this. I want Ken and Mariah to go home; if there will ever _be_ a way home. To look up those we have left behind, should any of them still be around. To have a good life, to raise a family; to help you raise _your_ family, once Kes is gone. I want you to be there for each other… and that's an order," he added with mock sternness. "It means a lot to me that you'd be willing to make such a sacrifice, but I can't allow it."

The others remained silent for a long while, knowing that he meant it. Finally Dalby looked up, his face hard and determined again.

"All right, Cap," he said. "You're the Chief; what you say goes. I'll do whatever you tell me to do. But first, _you_ must do something for me."

"Within the borders of reason – whatever you want, Ken," Chakotay promised. He owed these people so much, especially Ken and Ayala, who were his oldest friends aside from being his comrades. He would do _anything_ in his powers for them.

"Good," Dalby said. "Then I want you to marry us before they put you back into that damned cryo-tube."

At first Chakotay could barely answer, so surprised was he by this demand. Sure, he had hoped that they would eventually make that step, but Dalby had mourned his wife for so long, the pain sat so deep that most people thought he would never marry again.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked them both.

Dalby shrugged. "Heck, we'd be married by all but the letter of the law if we were allowed to stay with you, Cap, so why not make it official?"

"Besides," Henley added, "having it registered would empower us to make certain… decisions for each other."

Decisions that otherwise would made by the captain. Decisions that most likely would concern medical conditions or the question of life or death. It made very much sense, all of a sudden. With Chakotay possibly gone, they no longer trusted the captain to make such decisions according to their wishes… or their best interests. As a married couple, they would have the right to decide for each other, should one of them no longer being able to voice his or her wishes.

"All right," Chakotay agreed. "But they're gonna put me back into the cryo-tube at twenty-one hundred hours. Can you get everything organized by them?"

"With Tuvix as our wedding planer?" Dalby grinned. "All will be ready at twenty-hundred, tops."

"If Tuvok is in charge, I have no doubts," Chakotay grinned back at him. "There might be only one obstacle: the captain might want to do the honours herself. She loves a good wedding, and it would be her privilege. You can't very well refuse her."

"Yes, I can," Dalby said unrepentantly. "I want a wedding as they do it on Dorvan V, and only you can speak the words of blessing. Only you are authorized by the Elders."

"You're not even from my tribe, Ken, and you most certainly don't share our faith," Chakotay said. "Why would you want a traditional Dorvan V wedding?"

"Because _you_ are my captain, and I won't be married by anyone else, even if it means to dance around in a loincloth in the middle of the mess hall and howl to your Spirits for support," Dalby replied with a set face.

The mental image rendered Chakotay speechless for several minutes, and he could see both Henley and Gerron trembling with forcibly suppressed hilarity. After a while, though, he managed to pull himself together.

"Very well," he said. "Start sending out the invitations while the doctors keep dissecting me. Oh, and don't forget the rings!"

* * *

The news about Henley and Dalby's immediate wedding spread like wildfire throughout the whole ship, causing a nearly crazed activity especially on the lower decks. Even medical personnel could be seen whispering between two tests when they thought T'Prena was not watching them. She _was_ watching them, of course, but apparently decided not to interfere. Perhaps even Vulcans had a soft spot when it came to weddings, unlikely though it seemed.

In the other parts of the ship, preparations were in full swing. With the help of Daggin, one of the Ocampa agriculturists, Tuvix whipped up an impressive feast from the plants they had gathered on the planets, while the other Ocampa decorated the room with fresh flowers from the airponics bay. A pound cake was baked with all that was supposed to go into it, 'and replicator rations be damned', as Tom Paris declared while escaping his duties for a moment to instruct Tuvix in the proper creation of said delicatesse.

Replicator usage skyrocketed for the next half an hour to organize proper wedding gifts… and not only the accounts of ex-Maquis were plundered. Ken and Maria realized with a mild shock that they had more friends among the crew than they might have thought. Susan Brooks suddenly remembered the times she had been helping her grandmother in the small florist's shop and rediscovered her slumbering skills to make a wreath for the bride. Not a spectacular one, granted, but a proper wreath nonetheless.

The ceremony itself was short and simple then. Despite Dalby's fears, it did _not_ include dancing around in a loincloth or an invocation of the Sky Spirits; and they were allowed to wear civilian clothes. Chakotay simply asked them if they really wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, in good times and bad times, in health and sickness, till death would them part. When they replied in the positive, he spoke a short prayer; then the newly replicated rings and the personal vows were exchanged and the bride was soundly kissed, encouraged by whistles and catcalls from the guests.

When the audience quieted again, Ayala handed Chakotay a crayon, and Chakotay drew the tattoo of his tribe onto the temple of the newlyweds, making them thus the honorary members of his people. Making them _family_.

"I would do the proper tattoo, but considering the risk of accidentally mixing our body fluids during the process, I'll rather leave that to Greg," he then said. "Congratulations, Mariah, Ken. I wish you a long and happy life. Have a nice party, and forgive me that I can't participate – my cryo-tube awaits."

* * *

The excitement about the unexpected wedding died down fairly quickly, and everyone returned to his or her work, as work was there aplenty. The following two weeks were filled with hectic activity. The medical personnel, supported by the science labs, worked feverishly on the research to find a cure against the mysterious illness that had befallen Chakotay and Sam Wildman before their safety limit in cryogenic suspension would stretched beyond endurance. The patients spent the entire time in their cryo-chambers, including Sam's baby, who still did not show any symptoms. But the scans new better. He _was_ infected, and would have to share his mother's fate, whatever that would be.

"Any new developments?" Janeway asked T'Prena on the regular morning meeting of the senior staff.

The Vulcan shook her head. "None, Captain. I regret to report that we have not been able to develop a counteragent for the virus. And neither the doctor nor I see any other option to explore."

"Have you figured out what it is in the planet's environment that causes the symptoms to recede?"

"No," T'Prena said simply. "Since we do not know the nature of the pathogen, we cannot isolate the deciding environmental factor. Quite frankly, Captain, there is nothing else that we can do. Not without further information."

"I see," Janeway said. "Any suggestions?"

"As we discussed before, Captain, the only way to save Commander Chakotay and Ensign Wildman would be to leave them behind on the planet," the Vulcan answered bluntly. There they would be shielded from the effects of the virus and could live out their life to its natural end." She raised her voice slightly to overtone the outraged protests of those senior officers who had not been briefed about this possibility so far. "Both the commander and the ensign have officially recorded their consent. There is simply no other way, unless we want to let them die slowly while still in cryogenic suspension."

"I don't know… it sounds so damned callous to me, dumping them on some uninhibited planet like that," Harry Kim commented softly.

Janeway gave him an icy look.

"Unfortunately, Ensign, we don't seem to have any other choice," she replied; then she turned to Rollins. "Lieutenant, I'm transferring the duties and privileges of the First Officer to you on a permanent basis. As soon as everything is settled for the commander and Ensign Wildman, we'll resume our course for the Alpha Quadrant."

"But Captain," Joe Carey, father of two sons whom he might never see again, protested, "we can't just leave them behind! Sam has two small kids, what's gonna become of them?"

"Yes, we can, and we will, Mr. Carey," Janeway replied coldly. "You've heard T'Prena; there's nothing she or the doctors could do, and we can't linger here for an indefinite time. Our way home isn't getting any shorter while we wait, and this crew _deserves_ to get home, to be reunited with heir loved ones. Or do _you_ not wish to see your sons again?"

"Not when it means to abandon Sam and _her_ kids," Carey answered doggedly.

"One of those kids, the baby, has no other choice; it would die anywhere else," Janeway pointed out. "As for Naomi, we'd be happy to take her home with us, of course. She'll have a good home with her father or her grandparents."

"I don't think Sam would give away her daughter," Carey said.

"That would be unfortunate, but ultimately, this is her decision," Janeway replied. "Mr. Rollins, see to it that the future home of Commander Chakotay and Ensign Wildman is equipped with all necessities. Lieutenant T'Prena, get them out of cryo-stasis. I want to speak to them one last time to reassure myself whether this is what they really want before we start transporting down half the contents of the ship. Dismissed."

* * *

They say that only news can spread faster than warp 10 aboard a starship – especially such a small one like _Voyager_. Therefore, it was not surprising that by the time Captain Janeway was ready to make the big announcement, every single crewmember was familiar with the basic facts – and with all the gossip, the guesswork and the not always well-meant speculations surrounding those facts. Nonetheless, all off-duty personnel had gathered in the mess hall when the shipwide announcement was scheduled, and even those on duty were watching it on their respective screens.

On the bridge, Lieutenant Andrews, who was manning the Ops station during Beta shift, glances at Janeway nervously. "Shipwide comm link established, Captain," he reported. You can speak to the entire crew now."

Janeway rose from the command chair and stepped into the focus of the comm system, straightening her uniform in the process – perhaps to collect herself.

"As you are all aware of it, our efforts to find a cure against the disease that had befallen Commander Chakotay and Ensign Wildman were unsuccessful," she began. "Both the commander and the ensign opted for remaining behind on the planet New Earth, where environmental conditions seem to be effectively shielding them from the effects of the virus, instead of staying on board in cryogenic suspension, which could only protect them from the recurrence of the disease for another two months, after which their condition would become fatal in any case. Since Ensign Wildman's younger child has also been infected, she chose to take both her children with her to New Earth."

She paused for a moment, allowing the information to sink, and seeking for the right word to soothe the doubtlessly upset tempers of the crew.

"They have already transported down to the planet," she continued, "not wanting to make good-byes prolonged and too painful. We'll see that they are provided with everything they might need and will remain in orbit until they've comfortably settled. After that time, we can still remain in communication for approximately thirty-six hours, during which time all those who want to speak their personal farewells will be able to do so."

She paused again, collecting her thoughts, trying to give her announcement a somewhat positive closure… as far as it was possible, under the given circumstances.

"This is not an easy decision for either of us," she finally said. "Leaving behind people with whom we have lived and struggled for years never is. But our journey must continue; we still have a very long way before us. Janeway out."

For a while, there was an eerie silence in the mess hall. The decision had not been unexpected, but until now, nobody really wanted to imagine that it was truly possible. A group of engineers and engineering technicians was the first to stir. They were seated at a table near Tuvix' counter, a mixed group of Fleeters and ex-Maquis, and neither half seemed all too happy with the outcome of things.

"Well, that was so… so fucking _cold_, "Hogan, a usually mild-mannered ex-Maquis said, obviously shocked.

The others looked at him in surprise. Never before had they heard him swear, not even in the tensest of situations. Hogan was perhaps the most balanced individual among Chakotay's former crew. Yet it seemed that even he had reached his limits.

Ensign Swinn, a tall, attractive Fleeter from one of the Alpha Centauri worlds, was the first to recover from that surprise.

"Simon is right," she said; she and Hogan had been on first name basis since the first shared duty shift in Engineering. "We can't just leave them behind like that. It's _wrong_. Or is this how things will be handled from now on? If someone becomes an inconvenience, we'll just drop them off the next best planet and go on? I wonder who'll be next… and why?"

Joe Carey, albeit deeply shaken himself, shook his head. "You're exaggerating, Cygnet."

"Am I?" Swinn challenged. Cygnet was a pet name her colleagues used because her true, Centaurian name – containing a dozen syllables and lots of really weird sounds – was beyond the ability of anyone but a Vulcan to pronounce. "If we leave a mother with two small children behind, even if it was her choice, who can ever be sure about their safety? This is _wrong_, Lieutenant, and you know it as well as we do."

"Of course I know," Carey gritted his teeth in frustration, "but what the hell can I do? We've tried to argue with the captain about this, but she was adamant."

"Perhaps we should have the First Officer give it a try," Tuvix commented from behind his counter. "I know Mr. Rollins is not the greatest fan of Commander Chakotay, but he was always a fair man, as far as I… well, as far as _Tuvok_ can remember. And since he is a proper, well-proved Fleet officer, the captain might listen to him."

"I seriously doubt that he'd move as much as a finger to get Chakotay back – just to lose his new, shiny job," B'Elanna Torres, who violently disliked the new XO, growled.

"Perhaps not," Tuvix agreed, "But what do we have to lose?"

All eyes turned to Joe Carey, who was the ranking officer among them. The chief engineer gave a frustrated sigh.

"We can give it a try, I suppose," he said. "Just don't keep your hopes up."

* * *

There was some discussion about who should be in the envoy sent to the First Officer, with arguments and contra-arguments. In the end, Torres, Paris, Tuvix, Kes and Harry Kim were the ones to approach the small office that a mere three weeks ago had been Chakotay's and where the new executive officer was now residing. There was no guarantee that they would be able to achieve anything through a confrontation with the XO, not really, but they all had the feeling that they needed to do _something_ about the issue.

Lieutenant Rollins was a big hunk of a man with a broad, and at the moment rather mulish face, who made quite a show of how he didn't like being cornered, but the others didn't really care. At least Tuvix outranked him – well, _Tuvok_ had outranked him to be accurate, but people usually didn't make such a distinction – Kes was a civilian, and it took a lot more than just one ill-humoured Starfleet officer to make Torres back off. Even if said Starfleet officer was currently the XO of the ship and thus could gave her orders. Or he could _try_, at the very least.

"So, does this mean that we're just going to abandon them on this planet?" she demanded, pushing her face barely an inch from Rollins'.

The new XO flinched. Rank or no rank, an enraged Klingon – even a _half_-Klingon – was not someone any sane person would want within his or her personal space.

"Those were Captain Janeway's express orders," he said, almost defensively, and hating himself for it. As the First Officer of the ship, he shouldn't be intimidated by Torres' temper tantrums. _Chakotay_ never showed any such signs. Of course, Chakotay had fought with her for years and knew how to handle her.

"I just bet they are," Torres growled low in her throat. "She's been trying to remove Chakotay from his post for a while. This situation must have been the answer to all her prayers."

"B'Elanna," Kim warned her quietly, before she could have said something that would have her on report. "Don't! This takes us nowhere."

He'd worked with the new XO closely during the recent years and knew that Rollins was one who got insulted easily and kept grudges for a long time. Also, he was almost fanatically devoted to Janeway, having served already under her father in his youth.

"But you are her second-in-command now," Kes intervened smoothly, before things could have escalated, and gave the man one of her innocent, wide-eyed stares. "Can't you try to talk her into changing her mind?"

Rollins shrugged. "To what end? We could sit in orbit for decades, without getting any closer to help them. We can't do that to the rest of the crew. The needs of the many are more important than…"

"Don't give me that Vulcan nonsense!" Torres hissed angrily. "Not when it's just a lame excuse to abandon a mother with two small children on some uninhibited planet."

"That was Ensign Wildman's decision," Rollins said stiffly. "The Captain offered…"

"… to take her daughter, so that she'd never see Naomi again, yeah, how very _generous_ of her!" Torres spat, truly fuming now.

Rollins' expression hardened. "What do you suggest we do, Lieutenant?" he asked, now seriously pissed off himself. "It's either taking the children from their mother or leaving them behind with her. There _isn't_ any third choice!"

"Argh!" Torres threw her hands in the air in helpless fury. "I can't _believe_ we haven't been able to find a cure for a ridiculous insect bite!"

"The Doctor has really tried everything," Kes said defensively. "He searched every database, attempted the most drastic research. You can't fault him. Federation medical science just hasn't met anything like this before. Neither have the Ocampa, to tell the truth. And without isolating the source of the infection…"

"It would hit the crew hard if we left them behind," Tuvix said quietly. "The Maquis look up to Commander Chakotay like to nobody else; and Ensign Wildman is well-liked on the lower decks. But even more will people mourn the children's loss."

"Not _if_, Mr. Tuvix," Rollins replied, his dislike for the hybrid creature obvious. He considered the mere existence of Tuvix unnatural, a freak incident that should have been undone as soon as they had found the means to do so. Tom Paris knew that Rollins wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Not _if_," Rollins repeated. "_When_ we leave them behind. The decision has been made. We have provided them with everything they might need for their survival and comfort. The captain has arranged for a modular shelter to be transported to the surface. They'll have all the technology they need… weapons, tricorders, a replicator…"

"That's not the _point_," Torres said angrily. "They'll have to spend the rest of their _lives_ down there… and the children will never know anything else."

"As I already said, that was Ensign Wildman's decision," Rollins answered with a shrug. "She intends to continue researching the virus. She's a good enough exobiologist; perhaps she'll be able to find a cure, given enough time. Captain Janeway agreed to allow Lieutenant Ro to turn back and fetch them, should that happen."

"And when?" Kim asked, clearly upset. "When we're back in the Alpha Quadrant already, so she'd have to travel seventy years back to fetch them and another seventy years to reach Earth again?"

Rollins shot him a baleful look. "I don't understand what the hell do you expect me to do, Ensign!"

"Something you clearly can't do… _sir_," Kim replied, giving the honorary title an emphasis that was unmistakably an insult. "To realize that this whole thing is _wrong_."

"You're right," Rollins said. "I don't see what could be possibly wrong in yielding to the inevitable. Well, if this was all, you're dismissed."

* * *

"It _may_ be inevitable," Daggin, the Ocampa agriculturist said slowly, "but it is also clearly _wrong_. I feel very bad about leaving them behind. We ought to do _something_ to help them."

Pharin, his small-boned, straw-blonde wife, looked at him with wide, sorrowed eyes.

"I would like to help," she said. "But what could we do? The healers have tried everything they could have thought of, and beyond."

Daggin hesitated. "There is only _one_ thing we could do for them," he finally said. "But I am not sure your father would like it."

Pharin frowned; then she caught the stray thought of her husband and became even paler than usual. "You would be willing to remain here with them?" she asked. "Why? We chose to come with _Voyager_ because we wanted a new future for our people. What future could we possibly find on a world that hides such grave dangers?"

"Which world does not?" Daggin asked. "Why would this one be worse than any other? By staying with the commander, Samantha and the children, we could make a difference. They would not be a couple of abandoned people carrying a deadly disease – they would be part of a community that chose to build a new home on that planet willingly."

"And if we catch the disease?" Pharin asked, clearly frightened.

Daggin shrugged. "So what? If we choose to live on that planet, it won't be able to harm us… and we could live out our lives in the sunlight as none of many previous generations were able to do."

"You really want to do this, don't you?" Pharin realized.

Daggin nodded. "Yes, I very much want to do this. If the elogium hits, I don't want our child to be born in a ship made of metal. How long are we supposed to look for a suitable planet? This one looks suitable enough to carry a large population – as large as we'll ever be to create."

"Except that we might never be able to leave it," Pharin pointed out.

"Perhaps," Daggin agreed, "but that must not be so. We have doctors among us… good ones. If we all work together, with Samantha's help, we might be able to find a cure, after all. If not in the current generation, then in the next one. Or in the one after. That would still enable the Earth people to leave eventually, should it still be their wish."

"Have you talked to the others about this?" Pharin asked.

"I have," Daggin replied, "and they all agree with me, with the exception of Kes. But her situation is different. She has bonded with a man from a different species; she wishes to stay with her bondmate, which is understandable. The only one we haven't asked yet is your father. I wanted to ask _you_ first."

"I choose whatever path allows us to stay together… the two of us as bondmates, and all of us as a community," Pharin said. "But what if Father doesn't want to stay?"

"Then we won't, either," Daggin said. "We won't leave him behind, alone among strangers, with Kes as his only company. He has deserved to part from his life in peace, surrounded by his own people, whom he has served all his life."

"Very well," Pharin said after some thinking. "If Father agrees, I'll go with you, too."

* * *

That Pharin's father agreed with the young Ocampa's plan was something of a surprise. That Captain Janeway vehemently opposed it… not so much. But Bruithir, as the eldest of all resident Ocampa _and_ as the ranking doctor, was unwilling to back off.

"This decision has been made by our entire community, save from Kes, and is not up to debate, Captain," he said in his mild yet determined manner. "We are but guests on your ship – and grateful for the hospitality extended towards us, we truly are – but we are free to leave whenever we choose. We choose to leave _now_. You have no right to keep us here. Nor could you do so if you tried, to be frank. As a rule, we do not use our mental abilities as a weapon, but we _can_ do so if forced. Do not force us. Please. We are a peaceful people and would like to remain the way we are."

He didn't actually threaten with repercussions, should their request be denied, but there wasn't really any need to do so. With the mental powers of the Ocampa, even in its current, rather degraded state, they could make anyone do their bidding – especially if they acted as a group, joining mental forces. Tuvok had warned Janeway _not_ to underestimate the seemingly fragile, almost elfin people. They could come up with nasty surprises if cornered, he'd said, and Janeway now began to understand what he'd meant.

"Do you truly want to trap yourselves on such a dangerous world?" she tried to reason with them. The old Ocampa shrugged his thin shoulders.

"We don't have decades to waste, seeking for an optimal place like you," he said. "But even if _that_ didn't matter, it's against my oath as a healer to abandon two patients where they won't be able to receive medical assistance. That would be highly unethical. I respected my oath all my life. I won't violate it now, when my life is nearing its end."

"But they are in no danger there," Janeway argued. "Not while they are down on that planet."

"Perhaps," the old doctor said. "But what about other diseases? What about accidents and injuries? What about childbirth and child care, eventually. No; my oath requires that I stay with them as long as I am useful… unless you want to contact the Vidiians and ask for their help."

"No," Janeway said promptly. "I can't risk the whole crew for two people, no matter who they are or what the crew's feelings about leaving them behind might be."

"In that case," the doctor said, "we have no other choice than to stay here."

"But why do the others need to stay, too?" Janeway asked.

The doctor looked at her with something akin pity in his tired eyes.

"Because we are _one_ people," he said simply. "We work together; we choose together… that is our way."

* * *

And so it came that the entire Ocampa group that had lived aboard _Voyager_ for almost two years packed their belongings and beamed down to the planet. Captain Janeway, seeing that there was no way to change their minds, provided them with molecular shelters, medical supplies and a food replicator; the latter couldn't do more than the most basic food items, but it would be enough to help them go through the first couple of months – until they would be able to grow their own food. Besides, they had lived on the gruesome nutrients the Caretaker had designed for them all their lives – even a basic menu was an amazing variety for them.

Kes and Gerron gave them cuts and seeds and seedlings from the hydroponics bay, and many of their friends sacrificed precious replicator rations, so that they could replicate tools, household items and more clothing, as they would be exposed to the changes of weather fort he first time in their lives. The humans realized with surprise that they were actually looking forward to experience the moods of natural weather, no matter how unpleasant those might be.

"That's something no Ocampa has experienced for many generations," Cardix, a dark-skinned, particularly graceful female agriculturist explained enthusiastically. "That will be the first step towards a natural life again!"

"Believe me;" Tom Paris said wryly, "some aspects of natural life are seriously overrated. Bad weather is one of those aspects."

But that couldn't kill the Ocampa's enthusiasm. They considered themselves pioneers, ones that would build new paths for their entire people. The perspective of some small discomfort wouldn't make them change their minds.

Sam Wildman and Chakotay, prepared to spend the rest of their lives in solitude, were surprised, almost shocked, when the necessities of a small village started being transported down. Learning about the Ocampa's intention, they tried to talk them out of the idea. They argued and begged and almost yelled with them, but the elfin creatures remained inconvincible. Finally, the two humans admitted defeat and gave up.

The Ocampa chose a lovely spot near the river, where some spacious, dry caves have been detected in the side of a rocky hill. It was safer than the shelters, they explained, in case a storm would come up. Neither of them had ever seen a storm, save on the huge screens in the underground city of their homeworld, but they understood its possible effects all too well and wanted to be protected.

"Besides," Bruithir, whom they had elected as their elder, even though, technically, he was younger than Arien and Salin, both of whom came from Suspiria's colony and thus had twice the life expectance or more, "it reminds us of our old home. Living under rocks is something we are familiar with."

The other reason to choose the spot a little further away from the humans' camp was that thy wanted to give Sam and Chakotay some privacy. As non-telepaths, it was easier for them _not_ to be among the Ocampa all the time, although of course, they were always welcome to move in when they wanted, Bruithir declared in the name of the entire group.

"That is very thoughtful of you," Chakotay replied in surprise, "and we appreciate the sentiment, we really do. Perhaps one day we'll come to accept your generous offer. But right now… we need to cope with things on our own for a while."

"Of course," Bruithir inclined his head. "Unlike us, you did not choose this planet… this life. You will have to accept it… to grow familiar with this earth, to make a home here, to raise a family…"

"A family?" Chakotay interrupted. "Doc, we haven't even thought about such things! Coming to terms with this new situation is more than enough."

"_You_ have not thought about such things," the old Ocampa nodded discretely in the direction where Sam was changing the baby. "I am certain that _she_ already has. She is a mother, and mothers can be very practical in such things. But you are both drawn to each other. I can feel it; we _all_ can. The attraction is strong… strong enough to build something lasting on it. And now that her previous bond no longer exists, there is no reason to stay apart forever."

Chakotay shook his head. "Really, doc, you're seeing things that aren't there. Sam and I have never been anything else but friends… colleagues."

"Perhaps," Bruithir allowed. "But times change, and we change with them. Look at us, what a big step we have done towards a new life. _Your_ life has changed profoundly, too… you should be open for new opportunities. It is not good to be alone.

And with an enigmatic smile, he sketched an elegant bow and left Chakotay alone.

Chakotay shook his head again, this time in tolerant amusement. Apparently, matchmaking was a hobby pursued by all possible people across the galaxy. Some things were always the same, no matter how far one had travelled.

In any case, he didn't have time to ponder over such things right now. He had to report back to _Voyager_ about the supplies they had beamed down to the new site. The last-minute decision of the Ocampa to settle on New Earth had delayed the ship's departure by two days already. The captain was probably climbing the walls of her ready room by now.

He hit his comm badge. "Chakotay to _Voyager_."

To his surprise, it was Harry Kim's voice that answered him. "Go on, Commander."

"The transfer of supplies has been completed, Ensign," Chakotay told him. "We'll help the Ocampa check it over and let you know if they're missing anything. It might take some time, though; it seems you have emptied every single supply room aboard _Voyager_."

"Just half of them, Commander," Harry tried to joke but his voice lacked true mirth. "All right, your report has been filed. Captain Janeway ordered us to remain in orbit until we hear from you again. After that…" he trailed off, unable to continue.

"I know, Harry," Chakotay said, understanding his distress well enough. Even for him who knew he had no other choice, it was very hard to part from his people. For Harry, who was doing the actual leaving, it must have been worse.

"Promise me that you won't blame yourself for doing what you have to do," he continued. "It was our choice – and it's still better than the alternative."

"True," Harry said, "but…"

"No buts," Chakotay interrupted. "This can't be helped, so there's no reason to beat yourself up about it."

"I know," Harry replied miserably. "I just wish I could do something for you… for both of you."

That gave Chakotay an idea; one he had not considered before.

"Actually," he said, "there _is_ something you could do for me, Harry. A… a last favour. Consider it a parting gift."

"Of course, Commander," Harry was energized again by the mere thought of being able to do something. "What do you need?"

"I'd like to speak to the crew one last time," Chakotay answered. "To _all_ of them, not just the Maquis. So, when we speak for the last time before _Voyager_ moves out of communications range… could you put my comm link through the entire ship?"

"Will do, Commander," Harry promised. "Anything else I could do for you?"

"No, that would be all," Chakotay said. "Just… be good to Sito. She'll take this hard… and she deserves to have something good in her life."

"I'll do my best," Harry said solemnly.

"If I've come to know you well enough, Harry, and I believe I have, your best would be more than enough," Chakotay replied fondly and broke the connection.

~TBC~

**Note: **With Christmas break, sadly, over, future updates won't likely be so frequent. I apologize to those who'll have to wait for more a little longer, but working full time doesn't let me as much chance to pursue my writing as I would like. I've already thought out the whole story in my head and made extensive notes for future chapters - it's just the actual writing that will take longer from now on. I'm sorry.


	6. Chapter 05: New Earth, New Hope

**THE LOST VOYAGES**

**The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been**

**by Soledad**

**ALTERNATE RESOLUTIONS**

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

**Author's note:** As you might have noticed, this story doesn't always follow the timeline of the episode. The Sivaoans are book-canon and featured in the Classic Trek novel "Uhura's Song" by Janet Kagan.

Also, with this chapter the story moves on to Adult rating. Better safe than sorry.

* * *

**CHAPTER 05 – NEW EARTH, NEW HOPE**

This is the personal journal of Chakotay of Dorvan V.

Stardate – Stardates have no significance any longer. Neither has rank.

This is our third day on the planet we call New Earth – I don't know what the Ocampa call it, but I'm sure they've given their new homeworld a matching name in their own language. It would only be proper, as this will be _their_ planet as much as it is ours... or even more so. They _chose_ to live here, after all.

Come to think, I never heard them speak their mother tongue back on _Voyager_. They've learned Standard very quickly – what other choice do they have than be quick learners with a life span like theirs? – and didn't need the universal translator any longer. But since they joined us on this planet yesterday, they began speaking their language again. It is slow and melodic, with very short words; perhaps they supply the rest telepathically. I'd like to learn it, assuming it's possible for a human at all. If we are to spend the rest of our lives with them, we shouldn't depend on the universal translator forever.

We have gone through the inventory checklist for the Ocampa, and it seems they've got everything they might ever need – and then some. Captain Janeway was being very generous, despite her anger and sorrow over their decision to leave the ship and settle here. The fact that we're done also means that _Voyager_ is going to leave orbit today.

I don't blame them for wanting to be on their way. They can't help us, and they need to get home… or, at the very least, try. Why do I feel such a great inner unrest then, as if the balance of the entire universe were off-kilt? Perhaps I should go on a vision quest when _Voyager_ is gone – but it won't be easy to find a good place to meditate. There is practically no privacy in the shelter, and I don't dare to go too far from it. One of us needs to keep an eye on the children all the time. Granted, they're not _my_ kids, but I've accepted responsibility when Sam and I – we've agreed on first names, anything else would be ridiculous in our situation – chose to remain here together.

I've prepared a message for the crew; for all of them, not just for my own people. Harry, may the Spirits bless him, promised me to put it through the entire ship. I've thought about it long and hard what I could possibly say. It will be hard. I miss my people already. We've fought together for years, and they were like family to me. It had been hard enough to accept that I might never see Mama and the girls and my brothers again; losing my second family is almost too much to bear – but I have no other choice.

End journal entry.

* * *

He switched off the log – which he consciously called his journal as he was a civilian now – and left the shelter to see how Sam and the children were doing. He found Naomi playing with Annest, currently the only Ocampa child in camp, who had been born aboard _Voyager_, four months earlier. She was the daughter of Gaiman, the junior healer and his wife Cardix, and looked roughly Naomi's age. Ocampa grew up quickly – what other choice did they have? It was a fortunate thing for Naomi, though, because she was never without a pal to play with.

The girls recognized Chakotay and waved him merrily.

"Hello, Commander?" Naomi called out. "Are you looking for Mommy?"

"Chakotay," he corrected. "I'm no longer an officer, you know that? Where's your Mommy? And your baby brother?"

"Mommy went to check her traps," Naomi replied, "and took Elrem with her."

"And you didn't go with them?" Chakotay asked, raising an eyebrow. That was a first: Naomi not wanting to go exploring with her mother.

The little girl pulled a face. "I don't like insects. Besides, Annest was alone and had nobody to play with. She misses her brother, you know."

"I can understand that," Chakotay said gravely. He missed his siblings badly, too. They'd been a large family, with ten children and numerous aunts, uncles, cousins and other relatives. "But Benaren was very ill. He needs to stay in Sickbay until _Voyager_ leaves obit to heal properly."

Ocampa women usually had twin births, which was how nature prevented the whole species from dying out within a few generations. But the second child of Cardix had been weak and sickly from the beginning, and there had been concerns how he'd survive under natural conditions. Kes had even offered to keep the baby with her aboard _Voyager_ and raise him together with her still unborn child, but Gaiman and Cardix refused to give up their son. Thus they had made a compromise, leaving little Benaren – who, by the way, had been named after Kes' father – on board till the last moment, trying to strengthen his immune system as much as possible.

Sometimes Chakotay wondered whether Kes' decision to remain aboard _Voyager_ as the only one of her kind was a wise one. Sure, she wouldn't leave Gerron, but Gerron would have followed her to New Earth, of that Chakotay was certain. Of course, that would mean for Gerry to leave his people and give up the faint chance to ever get home. Perhaps Kes didn't want him to spend a lonely life on some different planet; after all, she'd be gone in four or five years, and what would Gerry do here alone?

Still, it would be hard for their child to grow up among strangers, with no other kids but the Benzite babies to connect with. Perhaps Kes should have come with her people, after all, setting Gerry free. But Chakotay had the feeling that the main reason for her staying had been her insatiable curiosity; her wish to see what was "beyond the stars", as the Ocampa liked to say.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Sam, who was carrying her son on her back on a large cloth. It wasn't exactly a high-tech resolution, but baby Elrem seemed content with it. Sam didn't seem particularly unhappy, either. In her wide-cut tunic and comfortable trousers, her blonde hair in a loose twist, she seemed very much at home on New Earth.

"Have you caught anything?" Chakotay asked, glancing at the collecting box in her hand.

She shook her head. "Just the same ones as yesterday; and they don't seem to contain the pathogen that has infected us. I'm afraid there won't be a quick fix for this; but again, we've known that when we chose to remain here. What were _you_ doing?"

"Not much," Chakotay admitted. "I thought I'd pay the Ocampa a visit once you got back. See if I can help them with anything."

"I walked by them on my way back," Sam said. "It seems they were food-gathering in the morning and are now busily selecting the edible plants they've found. Daggin and his fellow agriculturists have started digging up beds for the various plants they want to grow eventually."

"Is this the right time for that?" Chakotay asked doubtfully. "According to Ensign Golwat, this is early summer for the planet. Shouldn't they leave the planting for springtime?"

"By the mediterranean climate of New Earth, some plants would grow all year," Sam answered. "And there are those which need to be planted – or sown – in autumn to come out in spring. Although it's more likely that this planet only has two seasons: the hot one and the moderate one. At least in the equatorial area, where the landmasses are concentrated."

"Sounds plausible," Chakotay said. "Well, I'll be going then, if you don't mind."

She waved him off. "Go. It's my turn to cook anyway."

* * *

It took Chakotay twenty minutes –and at a fairly leisure walk – to reach the future Ocampa village. The sight made him smile. The fragile, pointy-eared creatures were buzzing around excitedly like dragonflies, and the somewhat hectic activity reminded him of childhood stories about the flower fairies his mother used to tell them. Some of them were digging up the soil in a place that was well-protected from the moods of weather by two rock walls; there they planned to sow _barios_, some sort of alien crop _Voyager_ had picked up on a simple agrarian planet but hadn't used yet, as the airponics bay wasn't really fit for growing crop. But now that they had an entire planet at their disposal, living space was no longer a major consideration.

"Even back home, we needed to be very economic," Daggin explained. "Our underground city had so little fertile soil with which we could work. But here," he threw his arms in the air as if he'd wanted to hug the entire planet, "here we can have all the space we need. We can finally have all the real food we want."

"It would be nice to have homemade bread again," Chakotay admitted. "I haven't had any since I joined the Maquis."

"Bread?" Daggin's pointy ears perked up even more with curiosity. "Tell me more about this 'bread'. It wasn't in the food database Tuvix gave us as a parting gift."

Chakotay laughed. "I don't think it would be high on the favourite list of either Vulcans or Talaxians. But for humans, it used to be simple, basic daily food – together with various sorts of soup – for centuries."

"Can you teach me how to make it?" Pharin, Daggin's wife asked eagerly.

"I can try," Chakotay shrugged. "I'll have to find something to replace yeast, though; and to build a special oven if we find anything resembling to clay. Bread isn't something you can make over an open fire."

"You know how to build an oven?" Daggin's eyes widened with respect.

"I helped my father build ours," Chakotay replied. "Let's hope I haven't forgotten how it was done."

Salin, one of those who'd come from Suspiria's Array, came to join them. He was beyond his thirteenth year, which meant that he was twice or thrice as old as the others coming from the homeworld, with the exception of Bruithir. He seemed no less adventurous and resilient than the others, though, despite their generally fragile build.

Apparently, he'd been the one who'd led the food-gathering group in the morning while the others were digging, because he had many questions to ask about edible plants and forest life in general. Chakotay answered him as well as he could, but soon even decades spent on frontier worlds proved to be an unsatisfying source to still the Ocampa's hunger for knowledge. It was like being a school teacher surrounded by over-eager and completely tireless pupils.

"Look," Chakotay finally said. "I know you want – and need – to learn things very fast, but this is not the right way to do it. Let us make a more practical approach. I'll spend a few hours each day teaching you all that my father had taught me about surviving in the wilderness. Then we'll try to learn together what we can about surviving in this _particular_ wilderness, hmmm?"

The Ocampa found that a great idea, and so Chakotay could finally sit down with Ducat, the son of the late Toscat, the Elder they'd met back on the Ocampa homeworld, to put down the plans for the future settlement. While they where content to camp in the caves for the next few weeks, the Ocampa wanted to move to individual homes eventually, and since Chakotay knew how to build log cabins – again, his father had insisted he learned the skill when growing up – they could hope to build a real settlement, eventually. Of course, falling the trees and transporting the wood might cause a few problems, but Ducat, a fairly good technician, was sure they'd be able to solve those.

For his part, Chakotay agreed. Sure, the Ocampa were physically fragile, but one could do a lot with the help of phasers and small antigrav units. They didn't need to start in the Stone Age, even if they were inclined to a more rural lifestyle. There was naturalism and there was stupidity; and no need to mistake the one for the other. Besides, he intended to build a log cabin for Sam, the kids and himself, too. Neither of them wanted to stay in a Starfleet-issue shelter forever.

He was just about to take his leave from the Ocampa when his comm badge beeped. It was Harry Kim.

"Commander, we're about to move out of communications range. Would you like to speak to the crew now?"

"Yes," Chakotay replied, his heart heavy.

The point of no return had finally come. Now it was up to him to support his people one last time – even if that support could only be of moral nature.

"Your comm link has been put through the entire ship," Harry told him a moment later. "Speak when ready, sir."

"Thank you," Chakotay cleared his throat. "_Voyager_, this is Comm… this is Chakotay. I've asked Harry to put me through, so that I can speak my farewells to the entire crew at once. Because whatever might have happened to us during our time in the Delta Quadrant, we were – _are_ – one crew, following the same, single goal: to find a way home. Now that I no longer can share that great undertaking with you, I wanted to wish you a safe and speedy journey. Even though Samantha and I won't be with you for the rest of the journey, I want to ask you: don't _ever_ give up the hope that you'll succeed. And for that, I entrust you all into the capable hands of Captain Janeway. Our thoughts will be with you on every day. Chakotay out."

There was nothing else to say. He'd spoken his private farewells to the Maquis _and_ to the Fleeters he'd befriended before beaming down to New Earth. All he wanted to do one last time was to remind them that they were one crew indeed, no matter what might happen after his departure.

He barely listened to Janeway's official farewells. He knew she was glad to see him gone, and that knowledge made him immune against her well-chosen, smooth words. He could only hope that the Maquis wouldn't fare too badly under her and Rollins' dual reign.

Someone touched his arm and he was surprised to see Sam standing on his side.

"You should listen to your own words, you know," she said gently. "I know you're worried about your people but don't you _dare_ to give up hope. Not now, not ever."

"I won't," he promised. "What else do we have left?"

What else did they have indeed? By that time, _Voyager_ had already crossed the border of New Earth's system and was now lost for them forever.

* * *

After that, the rest of the summer was spent with busy work. The Ocampa had cultivated quite a piece of land near the river – but not near enough to be threatened by eventual floods, as per Sam's advice, who had calculated the necessary distance for them based on her previous experiences on low-tech planets – and some of them even learned from Chakotay how to catch fish in the shallow water with the help of self-made wooden spears. Chakotay might be a vegetarian but the others weren't and he saw no reason in forcing Sam and her kids to adapt to his own lifestyle. Especially as the children had felinoid genes and thus required more proteins as pure-blooded humans would have.

Sam taught everyone how to make charcoal, which they used to build a filter that made drinking natural water safe for everyone, not the last for the Ocampa who had spent their short lives in artificial environments and thus were more endangered by natural viruses and bacteria than the humans. She also persuaded Chakotay to build a smoke house in which they could smoke the fish they caught.

"Firstly, it tastes better when smoked," she argued, "and secondly, we can't be sure that we would find fish in such amounts once the summer is over. We need to build up our resources. The Ocampa found some deeper caves that are really cold all the time; they will serve as excellent storage rooms for food."

Chakotay realized that she was right, so the first thing they actually built wasn't a log cabin but a smoke house, and the smoked fish quickly became a favourite. They all drew the line by eating any other animals, though. Chakotay had his principles, the gentle-hearted Ocampa would have been unable to slaughter animals for food, and while Sam had done so herself when she was younger, she admitted that she'd rather eat replicated meat than butcher any of the large, bustard-like (and, of course, purple) birds they'd discovered on their second week in a different part of the wooded area, where the trees didn't grew quite so close to each other.

"We should try to capture and domesticate a few of them, though," she suggested. "Eggs are wonderful things, and I for myself would welcome a real, down-filled duvet once the weather turns colder. The Starfleet-issue thermal blankets are useful, but a real duvet is something special. Besides, the sooner we get used to make simple household items the better. We can't depend on our sole replicator forever."

"Once it runs out of energy we won't have the means to recharge it," Chakotay agreed; then he gave the problem of catching some 'purple bussards' more thought. "Nets would be useful for that. Which means, we should find some fibre-producing plants of which we could make rope."

Sam gave him an admiring look. "You know how to make rope? You're full of surprises, Commander."

"Chakotay," he corrected. "And yes, we on Dorvan V were always quite self-supporting, although few other families practiced it to such extremes as mine. Making fibres and spinning them into rope is a long process, however; assuming we do find a suitable plant."

"What kind of plant would we need for that?" one of the Ocampa agriculturists, whose name momentarily escaped him, asked eagerly.

Chakotay fetched his PADD from the shelter and called up pictures of several dozen fibre-producing plants from quite a few different worlds.

"Look for plants like these," he said. "Collect samples: both stems and leaves, so that we can check their texture with the tricorder and select the most suitable ones."

He handed the PADD to the Ocampa who nodded and hurried away to tell the others about the new and exciting task. In half an hour, they all had stored the pictures in their excellent memories and would watch out for possible candidates during their food-gathering trips.

"I hope they find something soon," Sam commented. "The bussards might migrate when the summer season comes to an end; we need to catch some as soon as we can."

Chakotay nodded. "I know. It's hard to believe it's been six weeks already… in Standard anyway. Given enough time we'll probably have to establish a way to count local time, though, or else the next generation would become horribly confused."

"It's a difficult concept to have a local year of eighteen standard months," Sam admitted, "while a local day is only slightly longer than the Earth standard. Biologically it won't put any undue strain on our bodies, but mentally it would require a great deal of adapting."

"Well, we do have enough time for that," Chakotay said with a smile.

* * *

And so they kept adapting to their new home. The Ocampa failed to find any fibre-producing plants before the summer would end, but they did find something resembling bamboo – lots of it. That gave them a lot of simple utensil options, plus another vegetable; one that could be simply collected, thus saving them a great deal of time and effort, not needing to be cultivated.

"You can really eat this?" Daggin glared at the tough, hard, knotted stems in deep suspicion.

Sam laughed. "Not these parts, of course; and not now. But yeah, when it first sprouts, those sprouts are soft enough to eat, either raw or cooked. Or steamed. There is a great deal of bamboo sprout recipes, and we can always come up with our own ones."

"We can also make a set of pipes out of them, to make music," Chakotay added. "At least you can do it with _real_ bamboo. I'll have to experiment with these a bit, to see if the stems have the same structure and would work the same way."

Sam shot him a surprised look. "You had bamboo growing on Dorvan V? I thought the habitable parts of the planet were all in the moderate clime zones."

"You looked up my homeworld?" Chakotay asked, equally surprised.

Sam shrugged. "I wanted to know where you came from, and it's not a very well-known world, unless one's really interested in politics."

"That's true," Chakotay admitted. "And you're right, of course: we didn't have bamboo in abundance there; certainly not enough to put it to daily use. Nor did I learn all my surviving-in-the-wild skills by my father being obsessed with such things. I'm an anthropology minor and, just like you, spent my year of training on various low-tech planets. Not all of them were simply primitive, mind you. There's a felinoid species called the Sivaoans who consciously chose to return to a very simple, rustic lifestyle, despite having developed space travel in the past. They taught me a great deal."

"Good," Sam replied, smiling. "In that case you can come with me and put those skills to good use. I discovered a beehive – or probably the next best thing. You can help me smoke it out and collect the honey, although we'll have to test it thoroughly before eating it."

Chakotay was instantly inspired by the thought of honey – he did have a sweet tooth – and went to work at once. A couple of hours (and a few dozen bee-stings) later they had collected enough wild honey for everyone to have a taste, leaving the rest of it for the bees, so that they could survive, too. Repeated tests with the medical tricorder proved the honey to be safe to eat by everyone, so they had an impromptu party to celebrate the new addition to their diet.

The Ocampa were blown away by the sweet, spicy taste, like children when let loose in a candy shop for the first time – small wonder, considering the kind of nutrition they'd received from the Caretaker for hundreds of generations, and then having to live on Neelix's cuisine. Sam had to explain them that the sticky sweetness would attract all kinds of insects, so they should wash their hands and faces carefully. More so as they couldn't know how their untested immune system would react to insect bites.

"We really should catch some of those bussards," she then said to Chakotay. "I could make all sorts of sweets now, if only I had some eggs."

"Wouldn't you need flour for that?" Chakotay asked.

Sam shook her head. "Not necessarily. They're many other ways to make sweets."

"Let us compromise then and replicate _one_ net until we find a way to make our own rope," Chakotay suggested. "Something of a strong material that would last a couple of years, preferably. In the meantime I'll talk Daggin and his friends into building a poultry coup, so that we can put away the birds, should we succeed to catch them."

Sam agreed with him. However, they had to change their plans on the next day, when the food gathering group found _goats_… well, the local version of it. Some kind of woolly mammals that looked like a weird mix between a domesticated goat and a wild guanaco from the South-American mountain regions. In any case, they had long, soft, very fine fur in a fairly alarming shade of deep indigo blue, and – based on their ample udder – one could expect them to produce milk in large quantities.

Building a _goat pen_ had suddenly become a priority. Once again, the building of log cabins to live in had to be postponed.

Heavy-heartedly, Chakotay agreed to replicate two more nets, larger and stronger ones than the first one designed to catch the large birds. The Ocampa turned out to be excellent team workers at the hunt as well as with cultivating the soil or gathering foodstuffs, which wasn't really surprising by a telepathic species. It took a few aborted attempts, after which the torn nets had to be repaired, of course, but in the end they managed to capture a few goat kids (by general consensus, the animals had been christened _blue goats_, the Ocampa not having any suitable name for such creatures in their own tongue) and put in one of the empty caves until the goat pen was finished. To everyone's surprise, a few female ones (presumably the mothers of the kids) followed voluntarily.

As the kids were still suckling, Sam got the chance to milk the goats while Chakotay held them down – practically lying on them, to the great amusement of the Ocampa – so that they couldn't run away.

"If we milk them regularly, they'll keep producing milk, even after the kids stopped suckling," she explained, while showing the Ocampa how to do it properly. "They'll also get used to us and stop struggling. Hopefully."

"I believe I can help with that," Pharin offered shyly. She sat down on her heals, facing the goat in Chakotay's grip and simply smiled. After a while, the animal calmed down and stopped struggling, looking back at her with big, trusting eyes.

Sam stared at the small-boned, elfin woman in stunned surprise. "How did you do _that_?"

Pharin shrugged modestly. "I just sent her feelings of calmness and safety. It wasn't really that hard."

"You can communicate with them?" Chakotay asked.

Pharin shook her head. "Oh, no, their minds are not organized enough for that. I simply made her feel safe, so that she won't be afraid of us."

"That's a useful ability," Chakotay said, impressed. "Especially if we come across animals of even higher order. Can you suggest fear and danger as well?"

Pharin nodded. "And pain, though I'd rather not do that."

"Good," Chakotay said. "If all of you can do that, we might be able to scare away any predators without having to kill them. I'd avoid _that_ if possible, to keep the natural balance of this world intact."

"Do you think there'll be predators here?" Sam asked in concern.

Chakotay shrugged. "That would be only natural, I think. We have the bussards and the goats as potential prey; it's only logical that something has to be higher up on the food chain. Canines or felinoids, most likely, or both. But as long as we live in the caves – or, in our case, a Starfleet-issue shelter – we should be safe enough. Later, when the log cabins have been built, we might want to build a protective fence, though; as much for our own protection as for that of our domestic animals."

* * *

The Ocampa agreed with the suggestion, and together they decided that they wouldn't start building their village until they'd experienced their first winter on the planet.

"We'll also need a power source that would be independent from Starfleet technology," Salin, who used to be an engineering technician on Suspiria's array, suggested. "Something simple that could provide us with renewable energy without polluting the environment."

"What about building a small dam, a little further up the river?" Niall, once an historian on the Ocampa homeworld, asked. "Our ancestors had such power plants at the sources of the River Jalad, where it was swift and vigorous. That would provide us with clean energy for such things as churning butter and grinding flour – once we've harvested our first grain, that is."

"Not to mention heating our homes, should it be necessary during winter," Cardix, worried about the health of her children, added.

"Let's deal with first things first," Chakotay said. "We're only thirty-some people, including the children; there's only so much physical work we can do at the same time. It would be better building just the goat pen _now_ and finishing it before winter arrives than start several projects and leave them unfinished because of the lack of manpower."

"There is much truth in that," Bruithir admitted. "However, you should not forget, my friend, that we can use more than just our bodies to move and transport heavy objects," he glanced at Salin and his son Liahan whose telekinetic abilities were the strongest and most finely honed of all. "I'm sure if a few of us harmonized out mental efforts we could move along the building of a dam with much greater speed."

"It's worth an experiment," Gaiman, their junior doctor, said before the humans could protest. "We should try it out on smaller objects first, though. It would do us no good if we exhorted ourselves in fruitless efforts. Moving things with one's mind costs a great deal of strength."

The others agreed with that, and those known to have strong mental powers started with small exercises on the next day. It seemed that all Ocampa had some rudimentary telekinetic abilities – which would explain how their ancestors had managed to build a civilization, despite their short life spans and fragile bodies – but the range of it was very varied. Some, like Daggin, had a hard time to move anything bigger than a pebble. Others could lift felled trees by sheer willpower.

Faruh, a female maintenance technician and her young son, Minar, showed the greatest raw power, but they lacked the technique and finesse Sahin and Liahan had learned on Suspiria's Array. So, additionally to all the work that had to be done, they also needed training to deal with their newly rediscovered abilities.

"As much as I'm used to working with Vulcans and Betazoids, I'm grateful that we've got our own place to live," Sam confessed in the early days of autumn. "They're trying so hard to regain all that they'd lost during the Caretaker's benevolent tyranny, there ought to be some serious mistakes. I wouldn't like to be caught in the backlash when _that_ happens. The human mind is not made to deal with telepathic accidents."

Chakotay shuddered from the mere thought of that.

"Still, I can understand that they're trying to increase their strength," he then said. "Autumn has already begun, and it would be good if we could finish the dam before the onset of winter. If for no other reason then to see whether we can build something that survives the rougher seasons, and if not, what we would have to do differently."

"Have you finished analyzing the weather patterns?" Sam asked; that was a project Chakotay had worked on since their arrival whenever he could make time for it, which was rare enough.

Chakotay nodded. "And compared them with the data _Voyager_ gathered about the planet, yeah. The predictions are not very encouraging, I'm afraid. If my analysis is correct, and I can't see why it wouldn't be, we can count on violent storms during the whole winter; storms that might cover half the continent at a time."

Sam paled. "You're right: that _isn't_ very encouraging."

"No," Chakotay agreed. "I'll discuss it with the Ocampa Elders, but the most reasonable solution would be to switch between summer and winter quarters – for us as well as for the animals."

"You mean staying in the caves during winter and only move to log cabins or tents or awnings or whatever in the summer?" Sam clarified.

"The caves might not be very comfortable, but they'll be able to resist the storms," Chakotay pointed out. "I'd even suggest dismantling our shelter and storing the parts in a larger cave before the storms begin in earnest. It would be rolled around by those winds like a hollowed nutshell. What's wrong?" he asked, noticing Sam's unhappy expression.

"Nothing," she said. "I just hate the thought of having to dismantle this place. It will be a lot of work… and I've only realized that I had come to see it as my home."

"Me, too," Chakotay admitted, "and I haven't felt _that_ for a very long time. Strange that in a couple of months we'd have forgotten that we're supposed to be travellers among the stars who don't call any place home. We've become earth-bound awfully fast."

"We had no other choice," Sam replied soberly. "The chance that we might leave New Earth ever again is very slim. This _is_ home now; and in order to keep it that way, we'll have to work even harder than before… as long as we still can."

* * *

Chakotay's long-term weather forecast threw a wrench into the smooth running of their lives again. Combined efforts were now focused on stocking up on food preserves in suitably cool and dry caves as well as making the other caves habitable for humans (well, for Ocampa, mostly) and animals alike. They also tried to finish the building of the dam if possible, so that they could save their Starfleet-issue power cells for rougher times when they wouldn't have any other options.

To general relief, the blue goats seemed to like their cave-pen and were more than willing to follow the Ocampa to places where they could graze, so that for the time being they didn't had to be fed. Nonetheless, the children were assigned to the task of collecting as much of the purple grass as possible, which then got spread out on the flat roof of the Starfleet shelter (the only suitably flat and clean place) to dry. It wasn't the most professional way of haymaking, but it worked, ensuring that the semi-domesticated herbivores would have enough food in case they got to stuck in their pen for several days.

To everyone's surprise, their small herd had got larger as autumn went by. Several other females joined the group, obviously realizing that being with the strange bipedal creatures meant safety and a constant source of food – they seemed to like the purple pea pods Chakotay and Sam had discovered on their first food-gathering mission, the ones that were vaguely related to Brussels sprouts, and the Ocampa children were more than happy to feed them the pods once the peas had been removed. Another corner of the pantry cave, as Naomi Wildman had christened it, got selected for the storage of the peas, kept in the sacks that originally contained their sleeping bags. They had to poke lots of small holes into them, so that the peas would get enough air and wouldn't start fermenting, but that was another thing the children had much fun with.

The work on the fields continued with renewed vigour. They could only hope that the grain they had sown right after their arrival would survive the winter – fortunately, they had been careful enough to put away two thirds of it for later use – but everything else had to be harvested before it would become too late.

The Ocampa put the experience gathered on the homeworld and in _Voyager_'s airponics bay to good use to produce as much preservable food as possible, and the fruit and nut gathering efforts were doubled. Some of the agriculturists had the ability to quicken the growth of plants slightly, but that was a method they used only sparsely and carefully, not wanting to disturb the natural balance of the soil. Therefore tending to the fields remained hard work, even with the help of Federation technology… which they also used sparsely, knowing that they wouldn't be able to replace it.

Sam, who usually helped out on the fields whenever her research allowed it, practically collapsed on the end of such days as soon as the children had been tucked in and finally asleep, supporting her forehead with a slightly trembling hand.

"It's strange how quickly one can forget what field work is like," she said tiredly. "I used to live on worlds like this, and look at me: even my knots have knots."

"I thought you lived on the Rigel colonies," Chakotay said in surprise.

"That was our official seat, yes," she replied with something akin to regret in her voice. "But I spent much work-related time on primitive worlds… too much, in hindsight, considering how little time I had left to spend with my family. Besides, as you know, my parents were naturalists. We hardly ever used a replicator at all when I was a child. Grew our own vegetables, cooked our own food, most of the time."

"And you hated it, didn't you?" Chakotay grinned.

Sam shook her head. "No, not really. Well, I hated the cooking – I still do, which is why I let you do it most of the time – but I quite liked working in the garden. And it turned out very useful in my later field of work, after all."

Chakotay's grin softened to a smile. "You'll get the hang of it again, I'm sure. And I don't mind doing the cooking at all. I'm not much of a gardener. My sisters always said that I had the dead thumb – plants just shrivelled and died when I worked with them. You're much better suited to take care of any vegetables we might grow."

Sam gave him a long-suffering look, more to distract him from homesickness than from true annoyance. "Yeah, assuming my back doesn't give out on me any time soon," she said, rolling her head and groaning a little. It felt really unpleasant.

Chakotay laughed that deep, warm, full-belly laughter that always caused a strange warmth pool in her belly and rose, placing himself behind her.

"Here, let me help," he said, and those big, warm hands of his began to work the tension out of her neck and shoulders.

"Oh, that feels good," Sam shivered with pleasure and could feel her nipples hardening. She hoped the fabric of her blouse was thick enough to conceal that fact. They weren't _there_ yet, and she didn't want to make a false impression.

"I've had a lot of practice in this," Chakotay said, and she could hear a hint of smile in his voice while he was digging deeper into her sore muscles with gentle but confident fingers. "My mother used to get sore necks all the time. I was the only one she'd trust not to make it worse. She wouldn't even let my oldest sister do her neck, even though Sekaya is a trained healer… a medicine woman, if you want to put it that way."

"Mmmm," Sam gave happy little noises and let her head roll back against those strong, wonderful hands. One day he'd have to ask Chakotay more about his mother, his sister, his home, his entire family, but right now, the only thing that existed were his strong, skilled fingers digging into her aching shoulders. They felt so incredibly good, her higher brain functions were shutting down and she just _felt_.

"Funny," Chakotay suddenly said, all traces of true amusement gone from his voice. "The only time I tried to help the captain this way, she all tensed up on me after a couple of minutes. As if having my hands on her would be indecent… or undermine her authority."

"Don't worry," Sam murmured, without opening her eyes, and reached back blindly to pat one of those miracle-working hands. "_I love_ having your hands on me. Don't expect me to say stop anywhen during the rest of the night."

Chakotay must have leaned in closer because she could feel his warm breath on her neck as he spoke.

"Then I won't," he all but whispered, and before Sam realized what he was doing, he turned her seat and leaned in even closer to kiss her.

His lips were soft and warm, the kiss gentle but firm, and Sam willingly opened to his insistent tongue. He tasted good, too: of herbal tea and honey and himself. They kissed hungrily, both deprived from intimate touch for too long. She could feel his hand seeking her breast, mindful of its sensitivity due to the fact that she was still nursing, his thumb circling a nipple through the fabric of her blouse, and that, too, felt so good, so very good. She realized that she'd been starving for being touched with passion ever since they'd got lost in the Delta Quadrant.

To her regret, the wailing of little Elrem broke the magic before they could have gotten any further. By the time she'd calmed the baby down and got it to sleep again, Chakotay had already pulled himself together, his gently amorous mood gone.

"I'm sorry," he offered awkwardly, embarrassment colouring his tanned face even darker. She gave him a smile full of promises.

"I'm not," she replied.

But it wasn't going anywhere further tonight, she knew it. She didn't really mind it, though. Before they'd go all the way, she needed to talk to him. About Gresk and what living with a K'tarian male was like. He needed to know, in case she'd panic in the last moment.

_Soon_, she promised himself kissing Chakotay goodnight before returning to her children in the sleeping area. Soon, she wouldn't have to sleep alone.

At the short distance of a twenty-minute-stroll Bruithir, the Ocampa Elder, turned off the part of his mind that had been watching over their human neighbours.

"And so it begins," he murmured with a gentle smile. These two lonely people _needed_ each other, not having the gift of sharing the minds of the Ocampa community. Now that they realized what every Ocampa had known since moving to New Earth, he could stop worrying about them. They had each other now, and everything else they could work out on their own.

~TBC~


End file.
